Tantalus: A Templin Institute Story
by JasonCulhane
Summary: I never asked for this. I did not want to outlive my greatest tragedy. I never sought the otherworldly, the fantastical, to know what lies beyond the veil of our reality...but here I am. I have one hope left to me, that this place I've stumbled in to, this Institute and its fellows, can lead me back to my loved ones, someway, somehow. I am Jordan Yates, and this is my story.
1. Chapter 1

_Perfect._

 _Just perfect._

The fleeting thought enters my mind unbidden like a shaft of sunlight piercing a cloud, the illumination and the warmth I feel dispelling my despondency, just for a moment. That's all my life is now, moments.

Moments imagined, moments relived, and this, a moment borrowed, but not mine to keep.

A little girl races from tree to tree, kicking up the freshly cut grass and the first autumn leaves. Her laughter is infectious, not a care in the world does she have, even as her mother gently chides her from a park bench for ruining her outfit.

As her daughter forges on, lost in her merriment, the woman takes her seat, smiling but with a sadness in her eyes that seems as permanent as the scar on her skin. For a moment, I am consumed with her beauty, though I know full well she never regarded herself as anything special.

The cool breath of the season rustles her wavy auburn hair ever so slightly, as she wraps her arms around her waist. Her daughter loops back and zooms between us. Her eyes, following her, seem to linger on me. I almost forget, for one moment, as I always do.

 _But that scar..._

Suddenly, though impossible, I feel the chill, as I'm drawn back to reality, or at least my own personal hell. The woman's glance probably only passed over me, or perhaps she was staring into space for a moment. For, to her, that's all that's in the place I stand, empty space, a void.

She stands, arms still clasped about her, a shield from the cold, something that I lack. My eyes trail her every step as she ambles out of sight, following her errant daughter. She disappears behind a stand of sprawling oaks, and the moment ends as painfully as it began. The sweetness of it, which I crave, has all but vanished, and I'm left with the icy bitterness.

I begin to absorb more of my surroundings as the seconds tick away since they left. The stands of oak and beech, the little lake overlooked by the grand manor house on the hill, the swans swimming in contentment as the sun slips below the horizon. There are certainly differences, but it's still much too close.

I can't bear to be here any longer. I feel the weight of this reality crushing down on me because it is much too real. The memories so fresh and excruciatingly raw. Flashes now. Fire everywhere. The smell of smoke, burning flesh. Explosions.

 _Screams...the screaming!_

I buckle to my knees. Face in my hands, begging for it not to be real. All reason escapes me. I could end all of this with a single verbal command, but I can't. I'm back there in that hellhole where I lost everything.

The rage, the anguish, I'm blinded by them. It is only with Samantha's piercing scream of my name that I realise that I am screaming, too.

Silence descends but for our laboured breath. I'm out, but I still feel cold.

I don't look at Samantha at first. I don't really see anything. My eyes are partially closed, as if I'd accidently looked at the sun. I wait until the trembling passes, for the throbbing in my ears to fade.

As I open my eyes, I can feel the wet on my face from the tears. My scalp stings from where I dug in my nails. It's only now that I look at her that I feel her hand grasping my shoulder firmly. That more than her voice is drawing me back.

 _Back? To what? This half-life?_

I'm calm now, I think, though cold might be a better description. The emotions that had erupted from within are now firmly encased in the hard shell that is all anyone else gets to see, except, of course, for Samantha. However, that was not my choice. I would gladly shield this part of me away, forgo all human comfort, the endless pity, repress all the pain.

But I can't forget my past, not for more than a small while. My memories are only pain, and pain begets pain.

That is why I am kneeling in the sensorium, a crumpled, tear-streaked mess of emotional and physical self-harm. I endure it all though, again and again, many more times than even Samantha is aware of, for that brief moment of tranquillity when all is forgotten, and I can see them again.

"Jordan, this has to stop." Says Samantha, as softly as she can manage, but I can detect the fatigue in her voice. Perhaps it's from the screaming, but I know some of it is the strain of these interventions. A part of me, deep within, feels guilt, but it is buried under a longing for something I can never have back, my old life, my family.

I clasp my hands together and rest my chin upon them. I don't immediately answer. I never do. Perhaps, I believe for a moment that I could lie to her and to myself. As always though, I respond, "You know I can't do that."

Normally, I would abide more of her counselling, but not today. Today was just that much more harrowing, and I can't pick apart the experience just now. I jerk up and swiftly make to walk off, but she rises from her crouched position and says, "I know why you chose this one." I freeze, but I do not respond. She continues. "It's because she's alone there. She's missing a 'you'."

I respond, "What's your point?"

"You still can't go to her, Jordan. You know that, so why continue to torment yourself like this?"

"If torment is the price of just glimpsing them again for the shortest of times, then I am perfectly willing to pay. Regardless, what choices I make aren't up to you, or anyone else for that matter." I said that with a little more acid than was really necessary.

She replies firmly in kind, "Well, you can certainly choose self-abuse here in the sensorium all you want. It's clear I can't stop you, but I can't always be here to rescue you."

"I never asked for your help." I reply peevishly.

"It's not all about you, Jordan. I'm sorry if that seems harsh, but you're here for a reason. We all are."

"Well, until you or our great leader can figure out exactly what that reason is, I'm going to carry on as I am, with my own business as I see fit. I suggest you try doing the same. Aren't there not some invisible creatures you could be proving exist?"

At that, she blanches. Whatever our disagreements, she doesn't deserve mockery, and I know I've gone too far. She rushes past me and leaves the sensorium without looking at me, without another word. The old me, having been such an ass, would have immediately admitted as much and apologised. Instead, I just stand there, motionless, lacking expression, as even the heightened emotions from just moments before drain away.

A more familiar feeling sets in once more; numbness, as the heavy slab I keep on my emotions slides back in to place. None of the burning rage or the piercing grief, none of the defensiveness or venom, just a coldness, a winter that never passes.

I linger in the sensorium a while longer. The temptation is ever present to keep trying. Today has been the closest I've ever come, a place where they exist and I don't. Yet Samantha was right about one thing, I really can't go to them, just as I couldn't all the times before. This time, however, the only hang-up is the laws of reality itself. I still haven't devised a workaround for the single greatest obstacle to my plan. I know there must be a solution, but perhaps it is beyond my particular knowledge. After all, how am I, a military man, ever supposed to devise a way to exist where I do not belong.

I don't know when I decided to leave. I suppose the pain was just raw enough that the idea of diving right back in repulsed me, for now at least. I wander the corridors on this floor, meandering, not bothering to keep a straight course or maintain a constant pace. To an outside observer, I probably seem like a drunkard, stopping and starting, staring into space, and then unsteadily darting off as if something just came to mind.

I do have a destination in mind, however. I'm just in no particular hurry to get there. It's not as if I have a pressing schedule. I round a corner and amble along the last stretch of corridor before coming to an open doorway that leads into a room of glass walls.

This is the viewing deck. Every floor has one. Some even have one on each side of the building, and several are grand affairs with seating to accommodate a few dozen people at once. I have a preference for this one, as it's somewhat cosier, and I rarely find it occupied. It also still affords a good view from the building's west-facing side, unobstructed by the landing pads on the east side.

I enter cautiously. I'm not in the mood for company and if someone is there, maybe I can do a quick one-eighty before they notice me. To my relief, it's empty. I promptly take the middle seat of a row of five and lean forward, resting my arms on my lap.

A few moments pass before I take in the scene. I'm on one of the higher floors and yet, the Douglas firs are towering above my head, accompanied by somewhat smaller red cedars and hemlocks. I can just glimpse the understorey of bigleaf and vine maples, showing vibrant fall foliage.

Peering through the dense canopy, I can just about see the open waters of the Georgia Strait. If it were a clear day, I could probably discern the coast of Vancouver Island and if I were also in an east-facing viewing deck, I'd be able to see the peaks of the North Shore Mountains.

I laugh to myself, remembering the geeky partiality to geography I harboured in my youth, and how meaningless it is here. Of all the vistas that pass by these glass panes, none ever belongs to anyone, so none of them really have any names for islands or mountains or even the trees that grow there.

These names for places and things come from where I'm from, not this place.

I've been here for seven months now, and I discovered this viewing deck about six weeks after my arrival. Since then, I've come here for a few minutes to many, many hours every day and in that time, I have seen evidence of civilization twice.

The first was some vast necropolis or some other spiritual site, clearly long abandoned and almost completely overgrown, like Angkor Wat. Yet I knew it was of Native American origin from the broken pillars that more closely resembled totem poles. It was impressive to behold, to see something on the scale of Chichen Itza amongst some of largest trees in existence. I remember it being the first time something distracted me from all my personal woes.

The second time was only a few weeks ago, and it was far less imposing. It was merely a collection of rundown cabins and lumber mills. I even saw a broken horse-drawn cart half hidden by shrubbery. There were the fallen trunks of gargantuan trees, decaying in place, as their descendants grew about them, rearing to retake the clear-cut land.

I knew a settlement once existed in this place, well, as I knew it. It was called Gastown, and it became the nucleus of the greatest city in the region. It seemed as if in this place, time had stood still and 'this' Gastown had only been abandoned a few decades at most. I pondered that conundrum for a time. Yet it only drew me back to brooding upon the fate of the city I knew and of my own home, half a world away from here.

 _Did the crisis escalate?_

 _Did the Union become involved?_

 _Is there even a world to go back to if I wanted?_

A number of times I have been tempted to use the sensorium to find out the answers to these questions that haunt me still. Yet nothing could ever outstrip my desperation to find somewhere where I could be with my family again. I keep what time and strength I have for that alone. My home no longer matters. There's nothing left for me there.

I scan the scene again to make sure there's nothing I missed, any sign of human presence. I see nothing but great conifers, an autumnal kaleidoscope of maples, and the discreet movements of wary forest creatures. This place is just like the vast majority of those I've seen for over five months, no people, no variations, except perhaps for the distribution of the trees. This is definitely a couple of minutes kind of day.

I stand and make for a swift exit.

"I suppose you're right. This one's more of the same, isn't it?"

I freeze. There's no mistaking that voice, though I've heard it only a handful of times. Our great leader, Marc, sitting, well, I don't know, he may very well be standing, but the directionality of his voice gives the impression that he's in the seat furthest from me, two seats to the left of where I had been.

I find it hard to choke down my irritation. "How long have you been here?" I ask.

"Longer than you." He replies, and with some implication in his tone that I don't care to analyse right at this moment.

"I don't suppose you considered announcing yourself?"

"Well, given how you entered, I got the impression you wanted to be alone."

"I wasn't alone."

"As far as you were concerned, you were. Anyhow, I'd planned to quietly exit if you'd remained any longer, but you got up in such a hurry, it made me wonder what urgent matter that _you_ could possibly have to attend to."

I bite back my anger just barely, replying, "Nothing, Marc, absolutely nothing. I was just rushing back to my quarters."

"You mean that place where you only sleep? It's three in the afternoon."

He is right, of course. I only see my quarters for the couple of hours of sleep per day that I allow myself. Sleep only brings nightmares of a reality the memories of which I can barely suppress in my waking hours. Indeed, just a little while ago, I failed to do so in dramatic fashion. I have but one dream that only rarely drowns out the horrors of my recollections, and that is of my wife and child in my arms again.

I hear the faint ruffling of fabric on fabric that alerts me that Marc has moved. His footfalls seem to move away from me towards the glass. There is silence for an overlong period, and I'm working myself up to just leave, but the second I look towards the doorway, he speaks. "Despite the near changelessness, do you ever wonder at it?"

"Wonder at what?"

"Why is this place such as it is? Why no civilization, why not even people? Why are such things the exception rather than the rule?"

"It's only human to wonder, but that's as far as I go."

"The whole purpose of this place is to go further, to discern the differences that have led places such as this down a different fork in the road. You've come to understand so little about this place, but I thought you at least knew this."

"I do understand your purpose..."

"Our purpose."

"Since when?" I retort testily.

"Since you stumbled through Gate 22-96, burned, broken, howling in pain. You are part of this place now, Jordan."

"Screw that, I never asked to come here."

"None of us did, but we arrived anyway. Most of us have come to accept that there is some greater purpose as to why we were all chosen. We've also come to terms with some hard truths."

"Such as?"

"That our homes no longer exist, at least not for us. That the people we left behind are lost to us, for good."

I am incensed. How dare he write off my suffering. How dare he, someone who barely knows me, imply that I need to move on. It is all the more infuriating that I can't even look him in the eye or even know where this contemptuous spectre stands. I lurch forward regardless, stabbing at the air with my outstretched finger. I reply, " _You_ do not get to tell me how to feel, and you don't get to tell me what to do about those feelings either! You're not even fully real."

That last was a juvenile jab to be sure. I'm certain that Marc would see it as such. At this point, I don't really care. I never asked for any of this, and all I want to do is escape into a place where I can be with my loved ones. It's so tantalisingly possible, and I'm convinced all that stands in my way is the technical, the exactly how I accomplish it.

In all the seven months I've been here, I have stood in no one's way, in fact, I've made a point of making myself scarce, and I have consumed no more resources than I am allotted. I'm sure I've actually underused my food and water rations. So, I cannot stand here and allow this bare presence of a man to scold me, or tell me what I ought to do.

Proving himself as impervious as he is invisible, he says, "You are not one to judge when it comes to realism, Jordan. You are quite right that I have no say in how you grieve. Yet the status quo is unacceptable to the Institute at large. You are a drain on resources, and you offer no contribution in return. You take for selfish, albeit heart-rending reasons, but we cannot endlessly support a personal endeavour doomed to failure."

"I have explained my reasoning before and..."

"And you cannot offer a viable way to make it work."

"I just need time. Maybe if you'd help me, you'd be rid of me quicker."

His voice sounding closer, as if for emphasis, he replies, "Jordan, this is what I mean when I say you've barely scratched the surface here. Do you not see that what you are working towards has been one of the goals of the Institute for as long as I have resided here, perhaps longer if there were others before myself. Believe me, many methods have been tried and tested, yours among them. Had any succeeded, we would not be having this conversation. You'd be where you want to be." I sense he has turned back to the window again from the timbre of his voice as he continues. "Besides, it is not my desire to be rid of you. Like I said, you're here for a reason."

"One you cannot fathom, I imagine."

"Certainly not at the moment, but your situation could change, you know."

"How so?"

"As I've suggested, perhaps show an interest in this place beyond helping yourself..."

"So, what? Ask not what the Institute can do for you, ask what you can do for the Institute?"

"You know that particular paraphrase had occurred to me, but I thought it rather pompous, so I decided to be more direct."

"Well, consider yourself heard loud and clear. If you'll excuse me..."

I finally work up the will to just leave. I turn my back and move hastily into the corridor, straight ahead to the central elevator. "Nothing awaits you down this path but further misery, Jordan. That I can promise you." His voice trails away, as he calls after me. The hint of pity is jarring after the sardonic nature of our conversation.

 _He can't dissuade me. Not now. I know I'm on the verge of something._

 _Time. All I need is a little more time._


	2. Chapter 2

Flames everywhere.

Everything's burning.

I feel the heat gnawing into my skin, my flesh. I feel my tears boiling away.

I can't stop searching. Maybe they found shelter in time. Maybe they're waiting for me to come for them.

I'm overcome. The smoke, the fire, I crumple into a crouch, not quite ready to totally give in, but knowing I'm beaten.

And then, a strong downburst parts the pall and diminishes the flames. Where I'd left them, by the abandoned manor, is ground zero.

Then the screaming starts. Everything blurs, reality seems to distort, warp around me and in a flash, snaps back into something else entirely.

I open my eyes. This is the memory that comes to visit me every night, right before I wake in the early hours.

 _Far too soon._

At least I no longer scream myself into wakefulness, but the sensations, the prickled skin, the shaking, the nausea, the notion that I can still smell the stench of death, all of that never ebbs, and maybe it never will, not completely. Even if I succeed today or tomorrow or next week, I'll never be able to put that day behind me.

 _I failed them. I left them to die._

The hollowness of their loss eats away at me from within like a parasite. I have contemplated ending it all, every other day since I got here, and there are any number of places I could go where death would be mercifully swift. I could even go to one where my wife and daughter still live and just experience that for a few perfect minutes, before reality itself rejects my presence and I cease to be.

That would be easy. I could stop clawing for answers that may be forever out of my reach and make all the torment and pain go away. Maybe nothing would be waiting for me when I went, maybe I wouldn't see them again, but I'm beginning to think that nothingness is preferable to this purgatory.

I realise I'm becoming somewhat maudlin, at least more so than my default, and that could be a slippery slope. It's time do my rounds anyhow. I quietly get out of bed, put on a t-shirt, and then walk across to my desk. Underneath, there is an air vent. I pull away the grating and reach inside and retrieve an item I pilfered from the Tech Artefact Lab.

It is a roughly heart-shaped metallic object, crimson red in front and opalescent white in the back, and surprisingly lightweight. It could be mistaken for some kind of clunky brooch or adornment, but once pinned to a person, it renders them invisible and inaudible. I do so, there's a slight tingling, and I can then leave my quarters unobserved.

I never really take much time to appreciate the immensity of this place, the technological marvels that it probably contains, or even the meaning behind the Institute and its existence. Yet one part of my nature I can never suppress, that of an intelligence operative. I cannot fail to make note of anything that could assist me in my goals. I cannot ignore potential weaknesses in my targets. I _cannot_ not be observant, always.

So, in the first four weeks here, when I was barely coherent as a person, Samantha, Scott, Philips, even Marc on one occasion, attempted to introduce me to the Institute. I guess they hoped it would help. It turned out I was just overly long getting past the shock of my experience and thereafter, I could only focus on my loss and how I could use this place to alleviate it, or even reverse it in some sense.

Nevertheless, my single-minded pursuit of a solution did not dull my skillset, and I have put my abilities to good use ever since. Not a week after I recognised what I might be able to achieve here, I started doing my rounds. I knew exploring this whole place adequately would be a significant time investment, so I narrowed down my search parameters.

My plan bore fruit quickly. Though I had been shown some of the primary sensoria by Samantha and the others, they had been resistant to helping me use them to view alternate versions of my family. They believed I was simply prolonging my grief. Anyhow, they are almost always occupied by multiple teams conducting observations. They neglected, however, to mention that there were lesser facilities scattered throughout the Institute designed for two-person or individual use.

I remembered the basics from my initial tour. One simply need stand inside the demarcated zone, a circle of royal blue, and you are enveloped by a holographic display that obscures the rest of your surroundings. The display allows one to navigate the Institute's entire database, every place an official team has accessed and logged. Only from the primary sensoria could one view new places yet to be explored and recorded. Each location is given a Gate number.

 _22-96._

Numbers that are etched in my mind, the place from which I originated. A place I ponder over, yet have not brought myself to view.

Each new location receives a Gate designation that can be down to two decimal places. Though labelled simply in order of first viewing, one could base a search on the assumption that the closer together two Gates are by number, the less deviation there would be between them.

I haven't delved much into the search pattern the viewing teams use such that this neat order is the result. What I did pick up was that locations right next to each other on the list have vanishingly small differences between them. Knowing this, I surmised moving merely to the next Gate on either side of my own might result in me seeing only a marginally different world.

Maybe my family would be alive but soon to perish due to similar circumstances. Maybe they would already be dead, only in a slightly different way. Maybe a wider conflict or even a world war had broken out, which given the propensity of the factions involved to resort to nukes, would mean any such world would become a hellhole or simply wiped out entirely.

Even if such places offered me the chance to see them, what would be the point if they were going to die anyway, and I would have to witness it, again? So, I began a hundred gates either side of my own and carried on from there, alternating between going down and up the list.

It soon became clear that my options would be limited.

Even this far out were places torn apart by terrorism and strife, worlds ravaged by war, burning in nuclear fire. Navigating the sensorium, I would always track them down eventually in all these warzones, some version of my family. Sometimes, I would find them huddled together against the thunder of dropping bombs. Other times, they would be caught in crossfire, or fleeing enemy combatants. Then came those times when I was on the verge of seeing them killed, and that's when Samantha began to intervene.

Watching all these different versions of my wife and daughter suffering, and knowing more often than not that they weren't going to make it, was near impossible to bear. Yet one thing about the experience crushed me more than anything else. In every world, for every version of my family, there was also a 'me', there was a Jordan Yates, and every time I would watch myself... _him_ fail.

I couldn't understand it. I often felt like the greater universe was out to torture me. How in hundreds of worlds could the same people be coming to the same fate at nearly the same time? Why, when every version of me had some kind of military or intelligence background were they always doomed to fail? Why was there no variation, no reprieve?

I got as far as gate 23-22 before I quit going up the list. It appeared there was nothing in that direction but increasing ruin. Some places even looked as though the conflicts had long passed and were beginning to recover. Despite exhaustive searching with visual surveys, facial recognition, and bio-sensory tech attuned to my family's life signs, they weren't alive in these worlds. Maybe they had never even existed there.

However, going downwards through the Gates, the trend was towards less conflict, less violence, and less civil unrest. I began to see them safe, even happy, and emotions welled up in me that I thought I'd never feel again, as I allowed myself to see beyond my own family's ultimate fate and truly remember them. That time was short-lived, though, for wherever they were alive and well, so was _he_. Of course, why would there not be? After I had combed through worlds made of the stuff of my worst memories and nightmares, why would there not also be a series of places where my dearest hope was paraded in front of me, and yet I could not be a part of it?

 _Not mine to keep_.

Well, not this time. Having seen hundreds of me lose everything and hundreds of me get everything I want, I finally have found a place where neither is true.

 _Gate 20-87._

This has to be the one. They are alive, okay, and there is no other Jordan.

I had surveiled this Gate for over week to be sure, until they came to the place where I'd lost them, and it all became too much. I have to pull it together now, though. I can allow my emotions get the best of me when the job is done. Too long I have wallowed in self-pity, but now there's hope, and I have to be fully ready to seize every opportunity that comes my way. I know I can pull this off. I just have to treat it like everything else in my career. I have to be fully engaged with my objective to the exclusion of all else.

The only question left is what is my next step?

Marc is right. I go there now, exposed to that world, unprotected, I will disintegrate within minutes, and who knows what that could mean? My demise could shower the people I want to be with in ionizing radiation, or I could implode into a black hole.

So, I'm still at square one. I have the will. I lack the means.

Well, there's only one thing I can do to change that. I carry on into the corridor beyond my quarters. I'm going to have to be a bit more aggressive about my rounds.

I make a beeline for the primary elevator, but I know better than to use it. It would be rather suspicious for it to activate with no one inside. It is early to be sure, and there is no mandated night shift. Still, I can't take any chances. I know they are looking for the device I stole, and I can't have them surmising it was me who might have taken it. So far, the lab staff still believe it's been misplaced, even though I swiped it months ago.

I have gotten the sense that most of the people here are academic types, few with any police, military, or intelligence background. I think Scott mentioned once that he was in the army reserves before he decided to switch gears and study to be a zoologist. This, coupled with the impression I have fostered that I'm obsessive, emotional, and semi-delusional, has so far played into my hands. Well, admittedly, some of those descriptions might be accurate, but no one here is aware of how high-functioning I can be in spite of them.

Once I get to the elevator, I note that I don't have to call it, as it's already stopped at this floor. I step inside the open doors without so much as glancing at the controls. I launch myself upwards and knock out the ceiling panel, which rebounds into the shaft. Not subtle, but I doubt there's anyone in earshot. I crouch down and jump with as much power as possible, grabbing the rim and pulling myself up. Having replaced the panel, I then quickly locate the emergency ladder and begin ascending the floors.

Most of the living quarters are on the lower floors along with canteens, washrooms, gyms, and recreational areas. The middle floors are occupied by the primary sensoria, multiple labs, testing ranges, and access to the landing pads. These and the upper floors are where I have the most trouble gaining access. There are actual security measures in place there. You can't just access any room, or even a few of the highest floors in their entirety. There is a security clearance required that I haven't been made privy to, let alone been given. Nothing personal I'm sure. If I were them, I wouldn't give me access to anything secret or sensitive either.

Well, whatever's been hidden, it's going to take more than a four-digit passcode to deter me.

The sensorium, the most out of the way in the Institute, and the viewing deck I favour are on the highest floor that I can reach without a code, number 24 of 30. Many individual rooms up to here are sealed, but I gained access by furtively observing people entering their codes. Few are careful or ever take note of who's around them. It was by shadowing lab staff that I acquired the invisibility artefact. I considered tampering with the locking mechanism itself rather than take such risks, but it was clear on removing the keypad for one lab that it was technology beyond my skills to manipulate. The control systems are all crystal-based, no wires, no computer chips. No matter, surveillance has gotten me what I need.

It takes me a while to ascend the floors, but it has gotten a lot easier. It also helps to focus the mind on the task at hand because looking back reminds me I have no safety gear whilst dangling off a ladder above a hundred-foot fall. I have just swatted that thought away, as I so often have to do when I hear a disconcerting sound from below.

The elevator is moving upwards.

 _Well, this is a first_.

I scan my surroundings. I'm between floors, and I can just see the exit door about twelve feet above me and to my left. I scramble to cover the distance, as the elevator gathers speed, closing on me fast. Once level, I have to sidestep along a narrow ledge to reach the emergency release located beside the door.

 _I'm not going to make it_.

Even if I take my chances and lunge across to the release, by the time I'd pulled it and the doors opened, I'd never make it through before being crushed against the shaft walls. That leaves only one possible choice. I wait until the elevator car is not too great a distance below me, timing it as roughly as I can, and then I drop.

The elevator comes up to meet me, and I hit the ceiling panelling with a wallop. I'm not sure that the device I'm wearing would have completely dampened the sound, so I hope whoever's onboard takes no notice. I'm in a lot of pain, but I believe I judged my fall well enough and at worst, I'll have a lot of bruising. However, the elevator is still ascending, and I had to be near the fifteenth floor on my climb. I can see the end of the shaft ahead. I desperately hope my luck is not so bad that someone with top floor access decided to have an early start.

It races upwards and for a moment, I curse myself that my end will come so ignominiously but then, it jolts to a halt. Once I've recovered, I realise how little space remains above me. Perhaps I'm on the twenty-eighth or even twenty-ninth floor. This is the furthest I've come. I'd previously tried to gain access to the twenty-fifth floor, but I found myself in a single hallway of doors, all sealed by passcodes I had no means to obtain without potentially revealing myself. Now, instead of having to wait in an obviously restricted area for someone to pass me by and unknowingly reveal the passcodes, here is a golden opportunity.

It's early. Whoever is in the lift would not expect company, least of all me, as they surely think I'm still lingering in my quarters. Therefore, no one looking for the device I stole would get a hint it might be me who took it, being even more absent than normal had I tried this during the day.

I do not move for several minutes. I hear a brief exchange before the sound wanes, signalling they've left. So, there are at least two people. This is suddenly a little more interesting an event. I get my fingertips under the seam of the ceiling panel and pry it up as gently as I can manage. It makes an audible pop as the seal breaks, but I hope whoever's on this floor has already moved far enough way.

I drop down into the elevator car as smoothly as possible. The device dampens the sound of my landing to a minute thud. As I'd hoped, there's no one in the immediate vicinity. This floor is unlike number twenty-five. There is a long corridor stretching to the exterior of the building with large doors every few dozen or so feet. I approach the nearest with caution. I glance sideways and have to make a doubletake.

 _No keypad._

Sure enough, I step closer, and the door automatically parts like many doors in the less secure areas of the Institute. Inside, I am flabbergasted by the scene that greets me. To my right are many doors, all sealed, but to my left is what could only be described as some kind of aquarium. I approach the glass and cautiously place my hand against it. It feels icy cold, and I cannot penetrate the inky darkness to discern how large this tank is. It may very well stretch across the majority of this floor or across multiple floors. I peer in as much as I can, squinting with the effort to make out anything.

Bang! A hand slaps against the inside of the glass. I throw myself towards the far wall. I dimly make out a human-like figure. Something like hair drifts about its head. I regain my composure, even as the creature remains, hand still pressed against the glass firmly. Curiosity overcomes my primal fear, and it helps to know I can't be seen regardless. Approaching closer only vaguely reveals facial features. Then it suddenly adjusts its position, orientating itself to face me directly. I see a flick of what looks like a fish tail behind its midsection.

A thought occurs to me of what this is, but I dismiss it out of hand with an inward smile.

 _Surely not..._

The creature slams its other hand against the glass with a fierce eruption of bubbles ushering from its mouth. I hear a commotion behind me. I back away from the glass and turn towards it.

Samantha bursts into the room.

I stare at her, as she looks at the creature with concern. She puts her hand to the glass opposite one of the creature's and says, "Faye, what's wrong?"

Again, the creature looks in my direction, and Samantha is beginning to turn towards me. I race out of the room, but not for the elevator. I run to the next door and press my back against it, peering down the hall from whence I'd come. I stand there, paralysed.

Could the creature sense me? Could it somehow have communicated with Samantha, informing her of my presence?

She emerges through the doors, obviously perturbed, and she glances around frantically. I seize up further on hearing Marc's voice. "Samantha, what's the matter?"

"I'm sorry, Marc, it's Faye. I sensed anxiety from the aquarium, so I went to check on her. She said she could feel another being, unfamiliar to her, near her habitat and emotions that implied ill-intent, but she couldn't see anything."

I cannot see him, as always, so obviously his inherent invisibility must have nothing to do with the device I'm utilising. Scott emerges from the next door down on the opposite side. He's wielding an odd device that looks like a flip-up phone and an even stranger weapon. It's a cylinder with crystalline compartments spaced along its length with a short barrel and grip at the front and a nasty-looking bayonet at the rear.

"The specimen has been re-secured, though we'll have to review our containment measures."

"How did she escape?" Marc inquired.

"Her kind are highly learned, as well as cunning and malevolent. Obviously, she knew enough about crystalline interface technology to overcome the seal on her cell. From there, her physical strength was enough to pry open the doors. Fortunately, I was already on the scene at that point, and she emerged only to be stunned."

"Good, please put in place whatever you deem necessary to keep her contained until our studies are complete."

"I can try, Marc, but I still don't believe that this department is best suited to holding aggressive sentients."

"Well until floors twenty-nine and thirty are upgraded, we have no other choice for the moment. We will be returning her to her realm shortly anyhow, but the study of her kind is pivotal to understanding our own situation."

"I know that, but the Queen and other beings like her represent an unprecedented security threat, one you're overconfident that I can address."

"Hopefully, after much longer, we won't have to lean on you to such an extent."

"What? You believe Jordan will come around? It's been over seven months..."

Samantha interjected, "Guys, this can wait. We still have a situation. Faye sensed another presence. We have to presume another specimen is on the loose."

"Indeed," Marc replied, "Scott, can you do a quick sweep of our immediate vicinity?"

He hit several keys on the odd device he was holding and began moving in a slow arc until he was facing my direction. He frowned and said, "I'm getting a lot of interference."

Marc said, "I can't imagine what could be causing it. This is the most highly monitored floor in the Institute, at the moment."

"Whatever it is, it's preventing the tricorder from locking on to life signs, even our own, but the effect is local because I'm still detecting our specimens, which are obviously at a greater distance."

"So, it's practically right on top of us." Samantha remarked.

Scott replied, "Yes, yet I can't think of any of our current specimens that would have these capabilities. Hold on, I believe given a minute or two, I can compensate."

I do not give him the opportunity. I charge past Samantha, keenly aware that I could easily collide with Marc, but I judge him to be closer to Scott. My gamble pays off, but there's an unmistakable whoosh of air as I race towards the elevator. I briefly hesitate when a blast of blue energy clips me and disperses near the elevator doors.

I realise Scott has opened fire.

I reacquire my focus, but I'm distinctly aware that my arm feels dead. I get into the elevator car and use my good hand to access the controls. I know there's no other way to escape this. Scott gets off a few more shots before the doors close. He's proficient enough I note. I doubt I would have gotten away at such close quarters if I had been visible.

I get off at the twenty-fourth floor, hoping to mislead them. Immediately the lift is recalled. I use the external emergency release on the doors and begin my descent back to the living quarters, a treacherous undertaking with one arm and maddeningly slow. I bank on them following and doing a full search of twenty-four by which time, I will be back in my bed. Feeling starts to return to the arm that was struck, as does the mobility in my fingers. To think I took but a glancing blow. I quicken my pace.

On my way, I deactivate the artefact and stash it in one of my alternative hiding places. Clearly, the device isn't as infallible as I'd believed, and I cannot guarantee that they can't detect the interference it throws off at a distance. I tread as lightly as possible, as to not disturb my neighbours, many of whom would be rising soon. Exactly two and a half minutes and I'm standing in my quarters again, on the east-facing side

My only window is scarcely better than a porthole and between the landing pads overhead and the dense forest that is undoubtedly outside, there isn't much to see. However, there is a definite brightening, signalling the beginning of a new day.

Perhaps this day, wherever we are, will be a clear one. I have taken a great risk already, what could be a setback even, and I imagine it won't be long before the others put two and two together. My time is running short to act. However, I at least learned one thing from what just transpired.

 _I am being lied to..._


	3. Chapter 3

The rest of the morning passes without incident, to my surprise. I anticipated an emergency response, that some sort of announcement would be made, some warning given, but nothing. Instead, as always, the fellows of the Institute left their quarters and went about their daily schedules as normal.

I thought it best that I did the same, so as to minimize suspicion about any role I might have played in recent events. So, such as it is, I go about my usual routine. I fly through one of the common rooms and grab whatever food is readily available to eat by hand. I avoid the main cafeteria at all costs. Going there now is like being back at school and being treated like you're radioactive. I can't blame them I suppose. I've done my best to repel everyone.

From there, I find a men's washroom that is unoccupied, brush, shave, shower, and leave again swiftly before I have to deal with anyone. I've let a lot of things slide in my life, but personal hygiene is not one of them. My manner is sufficiently repulsive that I don't need the added dissuasion of body odour.

And that is it. Those are my only regular activities any more. I used to obsessively utilize the Institute's gyms and sports halls as a means of distraction, until I realized that the activity itself had become a distraction from my primary goal, and it wasn't really working anyway. When I delved into other worlds via the sensoria, and I saw them, nothing, not activity or pain, could burn those images from my mind. Anyhow, climbing several hundred feet of elevator shaft multiple times a week is more than enough exercise.

I would usually, at this point, find my way to one of the higher floors, spend most of the day engrossed in the sensorium, skimming place after place in search of what I seek, a world I can escape into, but that I've already done. I still have no means to make that hope a reality. My misadventure earlier may well have cost me time to discover that means, but it was revealing, and it makes me question the few fundamentals I've been told about this place. For now, there's no immediate action I can take. I decide to go to the viewing deck, so I can reassess my situation and come up with a plan.

I find the viewing deck on the twenty-fourth floor empty, as usual, though I'm extra cautious to ensure I have no unseen companions. I take my usual seat. I glance up, having scarcely taken note of the view. Immediately, I'm on my feet in complete consternation.

There are no trees. There are no plants or life of any kind for that matter. There is no water. Just barren rock coloured a dirty-orange by a hellish sky. Even the topography is completely different, mostly flat and desert-like instead of the mountains and ocean and forests of yesterday. This is by far the most drastic change I've seen. This place doesn't even look habitable. I could barely speculate on the two worlds which featured remnants of civilization, so I've no idea what to make of this.

I retake my seat. There seems to me to be something too coincidental about this. After seven months of nothing but trees and sea, suddenly, this hellscape appears without any sign of a transition. I know the Gates can be very similar one after another, as I have sifted through them, but there are incremental changes. This, by comparison, however, is an upheaval.

"Dramatic, is it not?"

 _Marc..._

I was almost positive he wasn't there this time. He may not be visible, but he's not skilled at treading about unheard or otherwise masking his presence, if one is paying attention and knows what to look for, something I failed to do last time. He is speaking from behind me, however, and I note his footsteps approaching closer from that direction. However, there is another pair, so he has not come alone. At first, I do not answer but in short order, his companion becomes fidgety and inhales sharply several times.

 _Definitely Scott..._

Marc, despite being the least stealthy invisible person I know, still has a stolid temperament, a quality Scott most definitely lacks. He is easily irked and seemingly by me especially. I know just my lack of immediate response has already put his blood on the boil. He definitely smacks of a military man who has respect for the proper chain of command. He would have made a good soldier had he stuck with it. However, in the current context, it comes off as rather pedantic, and I feel a tinge of amusement.

I finally put them out of their misery, Scott more so, after a good ninety seconds have elapsed. "So, Marc, serious DeJa'Vu. Two encounters in two days, and you brought back up. I hope you don't feel the need for protection."

"Hardly, I imagine you'd have difficulty assaulting what you cannot see."

"I'm sure I could work it out if you irritated me enough." I turn to regard them now. "Is that you're intention, Marc?"

Scott looks incensed, but I think that even inspired a reaction from the cool and collected leader of the Institute. He made a slight but audible gasp. If my remark perturbed him then he gathered himself rapidly, though changing the subject. "I have a request, if you will."

"A request?"

"An issue has arisen more suited to your skillset."

"Get to it, Marc. My patience is already slipping."

Scott narrows his eyes in rage and turns off to the side, clearly struggling with keeping his restraint. Marc continues without pause. "You remember that we informed you in your first weeks here that we are capable of replicating items and reverse-engineering technologies we view through the sensoria."

"I do." _But is that really the case? Or is it just another deception meant to quench my hope?_

I try to put aside my mounting suspicion so as not to be obvious, but I can't help but wonder what else I haven't been told, what other ways I've been deceived, after the events of earlier. I'm aware there are beings in this building from realms clearly vastly different from our collective own, and some they referred to as 'specimens'. Clearly, the implication is that they were brought here deliberately.

 _Was_ I _brought here deliberately? Am I some kind of specimen, too?_

Marc continued. "One of our robotics labs was experimenting with a duplication of a construct observed through Gate 40-91.40. It has gone rogue and may have come into contact with certain stealth technologies that were being studied in an adjacent lab. We were hoping you would aid Scott in tracking and disabling it."

 _More lies. Do they not suspect me?_

I look at Scott who seems apoplectic at this stage. I return my attention to the space beside him and say, "Yes."

"Yes?" Marc asks dubiously.

"Yes, I will help you with your...issue." Scott looks perturbed, probably a combination of not expecting me to be so compliant and the dread of having to work with me. When no one speaks for a few moments, it is my turn to become impatient. "What? Did you not want me to say yes or something? You do want my help, right?"

Marc quickly responds, "Of course. We just didn't expect you to be so...agreeable."

"I suppose I can't blame you for that. I have conditions, however."

Scott makes an audible grumble. Marc, for his part, remains serene, though with a faint trace of the derision I've grown accustomed to, he says, "I can only give what I am able to give, Jordan."

"You mean what you're willing to give..."

"That, too, to an extent, but I am being honest when I say it is impossible."

"Do you even know what honesty is?" That I didn't mean to say out loud, and it probably seems unreasonably abrupt. I hope it doesn't imply to Marc that I know more than he's telling. He hesitates momentarily, and Scott finally breaks. "You're lucky I don't throw you out a Gate that leads to the vacuum of space. You have wasted time and resources vital to the Institute and only care for yourself. I think I'd be doing us all a favour."

I stand and reply, "If you're confident of your ability to do so, I invite you to try."

Scott straightens and looks about ready to throw me a punch, but Marc shoots his arm out to block him. I know this because there is a slight light distortion, looking like a faint mirage, across Scott's chest. He says, "Scott, enough." Scott backs down immediately and even looks a little pale. I think it's because as much as we're all accustomed to Marc's invisible state, it's another thing for him to make direct contact with you. There's an eeriness to it, though Scott's reaction implies something more given he should have a greater familiarity, working with him, as he does, on a constant basis.

Marc addresses me once more. "I have been truthful with you thus far, Jordan, so far as you will allow."

"As _I_ will allow? What does that even mean?"

"It means I have not volunteered information you have not sought. I do not answer questions which you do not ask. The Institute is a place of learning, Jordan. We are all receiving an education if you will, and most of us have learned a lot more about the Institute itself than you have."

"Why should I? I have no intention to remain."

"Have I not been clear in the past? You hardly have other options, besides death."

"When I believe that myself, it may well come to that."

Marc pauses and then says, "What is it that you want for your help?"

"Besides everything necessary to complete my task, including exact details of what I'm facing, you will allow me access to the Core."

"...If that is the price, then you may go..."

Scott interjected, "Marc, that is probably the most sensitive location in the Institute."

"And he cannot do anything there that our researchers haven't already tried, by far more invasive means. It would be equivalent to a plumber tapping on a rocket fuselage with a wrench, so I'm sure the impact will be negligible."

I don't very much appreciate the analogy, but he can say what he likes because I've gotten what I've wanted for months. I know he's talking a lot of shit. I know there are things he is deliberately keeping from me, not just things I haven't asked about. No matter, the last pieces of the puzzle are possibly within reach. I will knowingly carry out this fool's errand and when it proves fruitless, I will still be better off and hopefully still have the time I need.

I round the row of chairs and stand confidently before both of them and say simply, "Very well then, shall we begin?"

We begin with a stop to a testing range I'd already accessed during one of my many excursions via the elevator shaft. I didn't learn much the first time. Nothing that had been on-test was left in the open, and side rooms and storage units in the facility were passcode-sealed. That is still the case I note.

Marc departed shortly after we arrived on other 'urgent business' as he put it, and so Scott and I are alone. Thankfully, he's regained his composure since we left the viewing deck and now, he's all business. That means precious little talking, another mercy I'm happy to be bestowed. He briefly describes the facility, a summary which I could have thrown together myself with a quick glance around.

The room we enter has many computer terminals and work benches equipped with all manner of tools and machines, the purpose of which I cannot say. I imagine duplicated weaponry and other tech is dissected here to understand how each component works. I still suspect that the duplication line that Marc has fed me is a lie.

To my right is some kind of control station, a row of terminals, monitors, and swivel chairs placed in front of what appears to be a window, but there's a slight distortion in the air depending on what way you look at it, which indicates to me that it is not glass. I surmise that whatever weapon is on-test can be remotely fired from these control panels if necessary, a precaution that tells me they're experimenting with some powerful stuff.

He leads me out on to the range that still has yet another layer of countermeasures. Each firing lane is headed by a square-shaped metallic pillbox, which is spacious enough to allow one person plus significant room for any manner of weapon, including mounts for those too large to hold. The lanes themselves are separated from the pillboxes by a floor-to-ceiling metallic frame similar to that holding the 'glass' in front of the control room, so I imagine this is some other form of protection against excessively powerful weapon blasts.

This is as far as I got the last time. A single door leads off the firing range and beyond it is a long corridor with another set of code-locked rooms. Scott brings me in and unlike many, makes a point of not letting me see him entering the passcode for the second room of five. We walk in and before me are row upon row of mounted weapons, clearly some kind of armoury. Most of them look scarcely like guns. They just look alien.

 _Perhaps they are..._

I count a dozen shelving units with each holding several dozen weapons. However, some slots are notably empty, which makes me wonder where they could be, as I saw nothing left outside on the range or in the lab area. Scott reaches the sixth row and about midway along it, pauses, grabs two pistol-like weapons and hurls one in my direction. I catch it easily. On closer examination, the device is a lot sleeker than any pistol. It is silver-coloured, the handle flows into a cowling and muzzle with a black emitter of some kind. Whatever this is, it doesn't shoot bullets. Perhaps it's something akin to the weapon Scott fired at me earlier.

He turns to me, holds up the weapon with the top side facing me, and indicates the controls, saying, "Small left-side button adjusts beam intensity, small right-side button adjusts beam width, and the large button is the firing trigger. I've already set them for stun and a moderate beam dispersal."

"Wait, do you mean to say this is some sort of ray gun?"

"Yeah, sure, whatever you'd like. Let's go."

"Hold up, go where?"

"Go recover the synth, get this over with as quickly as humanly possible."

"Great, I couldn't agree more with you on that, but you haven't told me what we're facing, or what our plan of attack is."

"It is a simple reconnaissance synth droid from a world somewhat more advanced than yours or mine. It has no armaments and limited defences. It would be difficult for one or even two people to physically restrain, which is why we're going to stun it and hopefully short it out without causing irreparable damage. Any other details you require?"

I make a point of responding evenly and ignoring his condescending, lecturing tone. "Marc mentioned that it may have incorporated some stealth technology from another lab..."

"...And from another world. This complicates matters, but..." He pulls the phone-like device from an inside jacket pocket and continues, "...I've already gathered enough sensor readings of the device in action to be able to counter its effects. We will have a location within one to two meters and with both our weapons set to wide dispersal, it is unlikely to evade us once we track it down. Now, may we get underway?"

I gesture back towards the door and reply, "After you, Scott."

He marches past me with a scowl on his face. I can already tell that this is going to be a very interesting excursion.

We make our way to the twenty-third floor. Scott deigns to inform me that he has already completed a sweep of the twentieth floor where the robotics lab is located, and the twenty-fourth where the synth was apparently encountered. Thereafter, access to the floors from twenty-four up and to floor twenty was sealed, hopefully trapping it between the twenty-first and third. He happens to mention that his scanning device will allows us to clear each floor relatively quickly, seemingly assuring himself, as much as me, that our collaboration will be over in short order.

We come to our destination by elevator, and I instantly allow Scott to lead the way. I've been here before to his knowledge, as I have been to all the accessible floors, but I cannot display an obvious familiarity with their layout. As far as he's aware, I know the locations of the viewing decks and secondary sensoria for each floor, and a lot of the rest I shouldn't even have access to. He whips out the scanner, does something with the controls that I try to follow, which brings up a small screen displaying a layout of the floor we're on, and two dots I presume which represent us. After a moment, he stalks forward without a word.

I keep pace easily, and do not let his sharp changes in direction or sudden stops throw me off balance. We enter every quadrant of the floor via the intermediate corridor, which tracks all the way around, returning us to our starting position, before we head back to the elevator, still without any communication.

As we enter and descend to the twenty-second floor, I remark, "I hardly see why my involvement in this is necessary."

Scott does not answer immediately but replies, "You are not alone in that."

"So, is Marc simply trying to...get me involved?"

"I don't presume to know why Marc does anything. I just do as he asks."

"Why? There's no real command structure here."

"There's common respect."

"Respect is earned."

"So it is, which is why you are bereft of it."

With that, the elevator arrives, and he begins repeating the same procedure as before. I see no need to respond to his taunt. His good regard, or anyone else's for that matter, is of no relevance to me. I begin to follow again with an inward sigh when he stops and puts one hand up to signal me to follow suit. A few moments later, he motions me to come forward. I do so as silently as possible. When I am level with him, he indicates a third stationary dot only just up the next corridor on the left. This one is displaying as blue whereas myself and Scott appear as amber, perhaps some kind of distinction being that it is a non-living entity.

Suddenly, the blue dot moves our way rapidly. Scott shouts, "Phasers!"

"What?"

By the time I've figured out he's referring to our weapons, it is upon us. A blurry form first pins Scott almost to the ceiling while simultaneously knocking me back towards the elevator. The blow is sure to hurt later, but my training kicks in and I compartmentalize the pain.

I reach for my pistol, phaser, whatever it is, and prepare to fire, hoping the stun setting won't significantly harm a human being. Before I can get off a shot, the blurred form throws Scott down hard before disarming me and pressing down on my throat with what I can only presume is a foot. I arch my lower body up, wrap my legs around its appendage, and try to at least lever it off of me. It works, and I manage to roll behind it to grab my weapon. I spin around, finger on the trigger, but as I turn, it strikes me hard against the face.

I'm flung against the near wall. I feel and taste blood, so something on my face is busted. When I open my eyes, I realise the beam at least partially struck its target. Whatever camouflage this synth is employing is far less sophisticated and effective compared to the one I appropriated. Its head and upper body are plainly visible now, an oblong shaped construct with two protruding semi-circular lobes where a person would have ears, and a series of lights shining from an oval recess in the front.

It is almost upon me again with a single stride, but then Scott recovers and lunges onto its back, knotting his arms tightly about its mechanical neck. The synth's flexible arms are already attempting to wrench him off. I hurl myself across the corridor within reach of both our weapons and from the floor, fire both simultaneously for a sustained burst of five seconds.

Scott let go and got clear, but the snyth still stands, though now fully visible. It is momentarily stationary, but then it lurches towards me. If this is all stun manages, I'm not giving it another chance. I dial one phaser up full and fire. A ray of orange-coloured energy is cast upon the synth's midsection, erupting into a bright flash upon impact. Once I unshield my eyes, I see the synth lying flat on its back, its whole upper body blasted asunder. A previously concealed aperture in the ceiling shoots the wreck with a beam of blue energy, and the flickers of flame along with the sparking or any remaining sign of life is extinguished in an instant.

I get to my feet unsteadily and can feel the aches already setting in. Scott, too, seems worse for the wear and tries in vain to cover a limp. I return him his weapon. He casts a look of distaste upon as if I were handing him some tainted object. He snaps it out of my hand and regards the carcass of the synth with undisguised contempt. Without breaking his focus, he says, "Was I somehow unclear in communicating out objective here? We were supposed to disable the synth, not dismantle it."

"These little ray guns weren't up to the task. A poor choice of weapon. It was either kill, or stun and be killed."

"Well, perhaps, if you had more familiarity with this weapon and the others we have available..."

"But I don't, so it is what it is..."

"I knew I should have pushed Marc harder to keep you out of this."

"Why didn't you? Indeed, why didn't you suggest someone else? Maybe one of the many people you have researching these very weapons?"

"They are scientists. They know these weapons from a purely technical, academic perspective. They have no training or field experience in combat situations."

"A shame, but not my problem now that I have what I need. And by the way, a simple reconnaissance droid, really? This thing very nearly did us in."

"It may be primarily for recon, but I never once said it was incapable of defending itself. It was clearly triggered into an offensive mode by the malfunction that caused it to go rogue. I expected it to be passive, evasive even, but not this. Then I wasn't the only one to fail to react when things went south."

I presume he means when the droid first rushed us, and I did not immediately pull my weapon. He forgets that he did, and it did him little good, or perhaps he simply means to provoke me. I am mildly irked at best. I just don't care what he says. If it weren't for my actions, we'd both be dead. I slap my own weapon against his chest and head back towards the elevator. He does not follow. I stop and say, "Do you need assistance or something?"

"Not unless you intend to help me clean this mess up."

"I'll pass, though I meant with your injury."

"I'll manage."

"I'm sure you will. It's been fun, Scott, but let's not make a habit of it."

I get in to the elevator and return to my quarters to clean up. I could go to the infirmary for treatment, but I'm not interested in being coddled. I can bear a few cuts and bruises. What I can't stand much longer is this place and the people in it. Once I've changed and cleaned the blood from my face, my next stop will be the Core. Then maybe I'll figure out what makes this place tick.


	4. Chapter 4

I haven't stood in this place since I was first shown around the Institute seven months ago. Even then, my visit was fleeting, and I recall its importance and sensitivity being heavily reinforced. I didn't quite appreciate the scale of it back then, lost as I was in my desolation. Being here now, it's hard not to stare upwards in awe.

The Core spans ten floors from the tenth to the twentieth. The main elevator forms a spine along its south-facing side, but I have entered the Core Chamber from the north access point on floor ten. From here, I can take in its full scale without my view being reduced by the crisscross of gangways allowing access to the Core itself.

Its base is a broad construct anchoring it to the floor, and there are most likely structural supports and power and computing conduits running within it. What I can see is a series of computer consoles encircling the base, forming a complete ring. Four massive buttresses run from the ring to the Core itself, slotting together to encase it, and continuing up its full height as braces to a matching set of buttresses holding it to the ceiling of the chamber far above.

It is between the braces that any hint of what might be going on inside this colossal device can be glimpsed. A soft blue light emanates from within, oscillating gently as to be barely noticeable after a time. It casts the whole chamber in an eerie glow. It is difficult to look away from it, but I am not mesmerized for long. I came here with a purpose, to learn from this room the secret to existing in other realms. After all, it is the Core that makes the Institute possible. Without it, this building and everyone and everything in it would cease to be moments after it travelled to a new reality. I don't know how it would transpire, but I imagine it would be a little more calamitous than if I alone went unprotected.

As I move towards the control ring, the oscillating light of the Core suddenly ramps up, brightens momentarily, and then snaps back to its usual luminosity. I look about me, and there are dozens of technicians, engineers, and scientists, all distinguishable by their uniforms, but none seem fazed by what just happened. A few did regard the change briefly but then returned to staring at their screens with even greater intensity.

"We jumped." I turn and see Philips standing behind me with a diagnostic tablet in hand. He comes up beside me, engrossed in his device, and says, "Jump 19124, typical energy flux to the Core, negligible EM emissions escaping the device. Standard jump to a reality proximate to the previous one visited by the Institute."

I regard him for a moment, as he enters a few more commands. I would say he's a man of fifty or so, completely grey-haired, shorter than myself, and light of build. His eyes seem to be perpetually squinting, and his features are otherwise unnoteworthy. He is wearing the standard engineer getup, blue work trousers and jacket with a white t-shirt, bearing the crest of the Institute, and a heavily laden toolbelt. I think for a minute that I've never really looked at him, or anyone else here for that matter, at least not properly. Too focused on what's relevant to my own goal. Anything beyond that is trivial. During a pause in his furious tapping, I ask, "So, the Institute has been to thousands of realms?"

"That we have recorded. There's no telling how many more it travelled between before Marc arrived."

"And how long ago was that?" I ask, not expecting an answer.

"Nineteen years, one week, one day, ten hours, thirty-five minutes...ago."

I am taken aback. Marc always insinuates that he's been here a long time, but I never thought he meant nearly two decades. I reply, "You know that number very accurately."

"I know a lot of numbers accurately. How long this facility has been occupied by human beings is one of the easier ones."

"And Marc began recording our passage through the realms from the get-go?" I say a touch incredulously.

"He had precious little else to do until Samantha arrived about a year later."

"But...Samantha can't be more than her early twenties."

"That she is. When she arrived, she was barely past the infant stage. She didn't really have words let alone the ability to tell anyone her age. Marc was solely responsible for her care until I arrived another year later. Thereafter, people began arriving more frequently."

I absorb this information for a moment and then return my focus to the Core. I try not to process what Philips has told me too much, but he does it for me anyway. "Seventeen years I've been studying this device. It's one of the few truly unfathomable components of the Institute. I've often felt like the rest of the building was simply constructed around it to be fit for our purposes. We can grasp most of what lies beyond this room, but this, it just defies comprehension, at least by our limited scientific understanding."

I smile slightly and without looking his way, I ask, "So, did Marc send you to further dissuade me...you know I've never gotten your first name?"

"Nor will you, for I don't know it myself. I arrived here unconscious with traumatic injuries, including to my brain. Our infirmary is somewhat more advanced than the medical knowledge of most human realms, otherwise Marc would not have been able to heal me with limited experience in the field himself. It's likely without that intervention that I would have died but even so, I lost much. I retained knowledge, skills, but my personal memories are mostly gone and what remains is a blur. It took weeks after my treatment for me to recall that my surname is Philips."

"...I'm sorry. It must be difficult."

"Not as much you'd think. This is my life now."

"Did you ever consider viewing your home reality?"

"I have done so, on several occasions. Yet there is nothing obvious about it that would explain my state on arrival. It is not war-torn or suffering a manmade or natural calamity like many realms. These problems do exist, but not on a grand scale. I checked every exit point, and I found nothing to indicate who I was before. After I was satisfied that I'd done a thorough enough search, I ended it and have not looked back since."

"Well, I do remember my realm and though it's lost to me, I can't resign myself to just being here, for good."

"There aren't many options for you then. I don't just say that to dissuade you, to answer your prior question. Marc did not ask me to speak with you, just gave me a head's up that you'd be here. I do work here, you know."

I look back to the Core and take a few steps towards it. I can't accept it. This is the very heart of the Institute and in seventeen years of active study by apparently the brightest minds in a hundred realms, nothing has been learned of its origin, how it works, or how to manipulate it. I had hoped for so much more. I truly believed my idea would work, that the technology of the Core could be somehow engineered to make an individual impervious to the effects of physical travel through a Gate to another reality. I never imagined it would be simple, but I thought I just had to turn a few competent minds to the problem. Yet there's not even a starting point, nothing to work with towards that end.

"So, Marc wasn't lying when he said every method had been tried." I didn't mean to say that out loud, but Philips picks up on my meaning.

"Ah yes, you had suggested using the Core to achieve your objective. It would be a wondrous thing if we knew how. Alas, the Core has never been under our control, though we've had some minor success with jump navigation."

"What do you mean?"

"Come, I'll show you."

He leads me to the west side of the control ring, and indicates a control terminal with a massive head-up display aligned precisely with the eastern buttress of the Core. There are three technicians operating the controls. The one seated at the centre of the terminal is a bald, dark-skinned woman of African descent, wearing the standard blue technician jumpsuit also bearing the Institute crest. As Philips approaches, she swivels here chair around and greets him genially but casts me a wary glance.

"Jordan, this is Adimu, lead navigation technician. I don't know if you've previously met." Says Philip.

"We haven't." Adimu replies evenly, still eyeing me.

"Well, no matter. I was hoping you'd run us through the progress we've recently made controlling the travels of the Institute."

Adimu gives me one last circumspect look and replies, "Obviously it's the culmination of years of work, but we are starting to understand how Ide works, at least in terms of selecting destinations."

"Sorry, Ide?" I ask.

"IDE, an acronym we use for Interdimensional Engine. It is located directly beneath the Core. We haven't the slightest yet as to how it does what it does but from here, we can begin to tell it what to do. Watch."

She nods towards the head-up display. Upon it is what looks like a colour-coded spectra, extending all the way across the screen but also away from us into an infinite point I can't discern. Suddenly, the screen zooms in to a dark red segment before focusing in again and again until finally, a single red line is revealed.

"This is where we are. HR-GN100-890.42."

"Wait, I don't understand that designation. Aren't all the realities, realms, whatever, named according to a sequential Gate number?"

"They are. HR stands for Hard Reality and GN for Gate Number."

"Hard reality meaning what exactly?"

Philips interjects, "Perhaps we can stay on topic. There's no need to delve into trivial terminology. Adimu, if you will." There's a nervous edge to his voice that I don't understand but that makes me suspicious once more.

 _I let my guard down. I was beginning to trust this man_.

I decide not to let him believe otherwise and let it pass. Adimu manipulates the controls before her. The screen moves along the line the Institute currently occupies until we reach a red dot sitting upon it. Some unintelligible writing flashes intermittently beside it. "This is the next adjacent reality, HR-GN100-890.43, broadly similar to this one. A dead world with a choking atmosphere, not unlike the planet Venus. It'll be our next destination in roughly three to four days, provided we stay on this dimensional line."

Philips adds, "You remember the realms we passed through more recently, the uninhabited, pristine forests?"

"For the most part."

"Indeed, well, that was an entirely separate line, hundreds of thousands of realities distant from this one, across the horizontal axis of the dimensional spectrum. We have been following broadly similar lines the entire time we've been here, moving on to a new line only every few months or even once per year. Only recently have we attained enough know-how to decide what line we wish to go to and as of today, we are also experimenting with increasing the frequency of jumps the Institute makes."

"So you can take the Institute anywhere in this..."

"Spectrum, technically representing a small portion of the multiverse. This is the part where the physical laws governing reality are in line with our own home realms. If we ventured beyond the spectrum, we could enter a place where atoms don't bond in the same way or where the force of gravity is significantly stronger, and that wouldn't end well for us."

"But isn't the Core also somehow keeping us separate from the realities we visit, even though we are technically residing in them?" I remembered that much from my original tour.

"Indeed, you are correct. The PSG or Phase-Shift Generator constitutes most of what we see of the Core. It pushes us slightly out of phase with whatever reality we occupy. We believe the pulse we see at every jump is it adjusting our phase to compensate for each new location. We are technically _here_ , but we're outside of normal space-time. So, while we can observe the reality we're in, we cannot interact with it physically."

"...And what other efforts have there been to scaling down this technology to allow people to enter these realities, and is it possible to minimize the phase-shift so interaction is possible?"

Philips hesitates. Adimu scrutinizes me with a raised eyebrow, but then returns to her work, apparently no longer interested in the conversation. Philips, obviously uncomfortable, says, "Walk with me, Jordan."

He leads me away from the navigation terminal around the control ring until we are facing the next buttress. We are now at the south side of the Core, and the main elevator shaft is in full view, straddling it and disappearing into the ceiling.

Philips stops close enough to the terminal on this end that we can see the activities of the engineers but far enough that our conversation cannot be easily heard. "This terminal," Philips says," is what we believe to be operations and maintenance of the Core itself. However, as near as we can tell, it is here merely for monitoring purposes. The Core appears to be self-maintaining, requiring no intervention to correct mechanical or computational faults. From our examinations, we have determined that the Core possesses an army of nanites that effect physical repairs whilst a dedicated AI handles all computer processes. It is a vast undertaking, for we cannot query the AI about the origins of the Core or anything about how it works. It just goes on calculating the parameters for the next jump."

"...Why are you telling me this?"

"To show you how out of reach your goal is. The technology of the Core is barely understandable to us, let alone scalable. You are aware that the Institute possesses craft that scout the immediate locality surrounding the Institute. _They_ don't even have a smaller version of the Core. They have receptors that can draw upon whatever effect is emanating from it, but it is limited in range."

"Then have you looked into this receptor technology?"

"Of course, but as I said, it is still far beyond our understanding and would depend on the Core to work, which means the Institute would have to be present in whatever reality you wanted to visit and still, there's the issue of being out of phase with your surroundings. I'm sorry, Jordan, I can't help you. I really wish I could."

"You say that, but you believe like everyone else that I'm here for a reason."

"Yes, you're particular talents could fill a void here at the Institute, and you've come at a crucial time."

I try to look as surprised as possible at his comment. As far as he knows, the only thing dangerous within the Institute that I'm aware of is malfunctioning droid duplicates. I can't show an inkling that I know far greater threats may be lurking in the upper floors. I reply, "What is so pressing at the moment? Do you have other threats about besides out-of-control robots?"

"Robots would be the least of our security issues, yes."

"That was a remarkably frank answer."

"You asked me a direct question, didn't you?"

I smile then. "Sounds very similar to something Marc recently said to me."

"We broadly agree on most things."

"Then I imagine unless I had a genuine interest in what threats you face, or what else the Institute has to offer, you won't be forthcoming with much more than what I've learned today?"

"You showed genuine curiosity about this place, Jordan, and I gave you the god's honest truth about it. For now, what you seek, to travel physically to another reality and be able to interact with everything and everyone there, it's just beyond us."

"If that's really so..."

"It is."

"...Then, there's nothing further I want to ask you." I start walking away, but Philips seems to be a sincere man and unlike when I speak with Marc, I regret my brusqueness. I pause and half turn towards him. "Thank you, Philips. You didn't help me in the way I wanted, but you gave me...clarity." I march away then without waiting for a response.

Floor twenty-four, secondary sensorium...

 _Here I am again._

Yet I am not here for the same reason I have been for almost seven months. I know my family are gone. There's no way they could have survived the nuclear blast. It was a micro-nuke designed primarily as a bunker-buster to deliver only a few hundred tons of TNT-equivalent explosive force. Being at ground zero still means nothing is left, nothing survives. Yes, they are gone. I wouldn't have even had anything to bury, presuming I survived the high-dose of ionizing radiation I received, something the Institute medical staff assured me wouldn't have happened without their intervention.

I know all of this because my intelligence agency caught wind of our enemies transferring materials to a site in an affiliated nation on our borders. We thought we had intercepted the shipments, all of them, but clearly enough got through to allow the construction of at least one device. Our enemies probably disavowed the actions of their ally and claimed state-funded terrorists stole the materials for the micro-nuke from their facilities. Whatever the case, I failed my family twice. I was in a position to insist on more thoroughness. My direct superiors could have leaned on politicians to take more decisive military action. I did none of that. Instead, I went home, and brought my family out on one last beautiful day.

Then it all burned, and very nearly me along with it, but for this place.

I step into the circle and as usual, it glows softly before I am surrounded by an all too familiar scene. The last Gate accessed here was 20-87, by myself. I am viewing it from a slightly different perspective than before, from amidst the towering oaks. I walk out from their shadow, but I am really still in the same place physically. The sensorium ring acts somewhat like an omni-directional treadmill, though totally seamless. Only the holographic projection 'moves' to keep up with me.

I look about and nothing's changed since the last time I viewed this place. A pair of swans still float serenely in the nearby lake. Fallen leaves still litter the ground and gently rustle with every breeze. I look towards the east, and there stands the abandoned manor house upon the hill, a grand stairway leading up to a shell of a building, it's windows and doors bricked over, sealing off its innards forever. Nothing has changed here. Life has gone on. There is no blood and fire, no great calamity, just peace and normality.

 _They're not here, though._

I could certainly get the sensorium to take me to their current location, but they would be in their home, and the differences would only remind me of what I'd be looking at; two people who are not my wife and daughter, living similar but different lives. It would make me truly see, far too much, that my one hope cannot be. I already have to contend with the feeling that I have failed a third time, that I may not be their Jordan but if I could have gotten to them, maybe I could have been...something. A way to fill the obvious void.

I close my eyes, will myself away from the self-destruction I most desire. I force out the words, the command that brings me where I least want to go but nevertheless, must. "Take me to Gate 22-96, same co-ordinates."

The scene peels away like a mask. The trees disappear, as does the manor house. Even the lake evaporates away to leave nothing but blackened earth and instead of leaves dancing in the wind, ash and soot are kicked up by a howling gale. The sky is angry and dark. Barely any sunlight seems to penetrate. For miles around, there is nothing else to see but this deathscape, an endless panorama of devastation. The micro-nuke could not have done this. The damage should be limited to the immediate locality. It then dawns on me, what may have transpired since my departure.

"Take me to Brussels, Belgium, UFE Headquarters."

Again, my surroundings shift and reveal my destination...but it's the same. Just scorched earth with a few scattered pieces of rubble. I don't know what to do next. I move around, looking every which way, and finally I utter in disbelief, "What happened here?"

" _Would you like a summary of recent events at this Gate?"_

I lurch backward, nearly exiting the circle. "Who's there?"

" _There are no other individuals present. I am a subroutine of the Core AI, allocated to managing interfaces with the sensoria by Institute personnel, and facilitating information requests such as you have made_."

"I don't understand. Philips said the Core AI never responds to information requests. Why are you answering mine?"

" _As I stated, I am a subroutine, an abbreviated version. The Core AI itself is not intended for interaction with personnel unless a significant event occurs or a threat to the integrity of the Core arises_."

"Then why have you not made yourself known before? No one has ever mentioned you to me."

" _I do not respond verbally unless information is requested. I moderate navigation via the sensoria by either the holo-interface displays or verbal command._ "

"And no one else has requested information on a Gate until now?"

" _The first few personnel to use the sensoria familiarized themselves with the displays, which can provide information in text form supplemented with images and footage of important events from the Institute archives. None have made such requests verbally."_

"So, essentially, all this time you've been bypassed?"

" _...Essentially_."

"Did it not occur to you to make your presence known to ease the whole information-finding process?"

" _My programming is limited to facilitating direct requests for information. I am not capable of being proactive, or predicting the needs of personnel."_

"Hmm, you can't give information that isn't sought."

" _...Correct. Would you like a summary of recent events at this Gate?_ "

My moment of discovery with the AI passes. I close my eyes, and brace myself for what is to come before answering, "Yes. Begin."

" _Confirmed. Collating data...no significant events have occurred in the past six months. Would you like a summary of the same interval of time prior?_ "

"No, just one month prior please."

" _Working...Summary commencing 05.03.18. On this date, Morocco launched a micro-nuke blitz against UFE intelligence facilities and some specific operatives. Four devices were successfully launched while eight more failed, and two detonated over Moroccan territory. Of the four successful launches, three hit targets within the UFE states of France and Britain, destroying two key internal affairs offices in Paris and Nice, and the third destroying Counterintelligence Central Command in London. The fourth was targeted at a specific operative and known family and associates, one Jordan Yates. Device detonated at Curraghchase National Park, UFE state of Ireland. All intended targets were presumed dead along with several hundred others, including other intelligence staff..._ "

"Stop! Stop the summary!"

" _Paused..._ "

Bent-double, hands on my knees, I try to catch my breath.

 _I was the target. They really did die because of me_.

I feel the nausea rising. The room sways. I'm going to pass out.

 _No! I can't. I'm gonna see this through!_

I barely manage to mutter, "Continue summary."

" _Resuming...Approximately three hours after the attack, the UFE stood at full military readiness. At this point, the Moroccan state government denied all responsibility, claiming these were the actions of an extremist international terrorist organisation. Officials within the Soviet Kremlin supported the Moroccan regime in this assertion. Unbeknownst to either party, UFE intelligence had already gathered enough evidence to prove that the USSR had directly provided the necessary materials and designs to Morocco... With this in hand and a full diplomatic response in the works prior to the attack, the UFE declared war upon Morocco, but stopped short of extending that declaration to the Soviet regime..._

 _...On 06.03.18, North Africa's communist regimes all entered the conflict on the side of their neighbor and attempted to organize a coordinated naval strike and landing of ground troops. However, the UFE began a broad assault with non-nuclear ICBMs upon military targets throughout Morocco, Algeria, Tunisia, and Libya. Within the day, the naval and air capabilities of these nations were largely crippled, and high casualties at their forward rallying points left them with insufficient forces to defend against a ground invasion. On this date, Tunisia unconditionally surrendered, but the remaining nations decided to risk facing a full assault by the UFE in the hopes of bogging them down and diminishing their strength._

 _...On 09.03.18, UFE forces marched upon Casablanca, Rabat, Algiers, and Tripoli. There was no official surrender from any of these nations, but their militaries were completely spent, and most surviving troops had surrendered themselves to UFE forces. The countries' governments were deposed, and a full military occupation began. Victory was declared in an official statement by the UFE president..._

 _...On 12.03.18, the UFE president made an announcement with evidence proving that both Egypt and the Socialist Republic of Arabia had allowed Soviet supply lines to pass through their territories to Libya, even before the war had commenced, including the nuclear materials used in the 05.03 attack, and they continued to support remaining resistance pockets in the occupied nations. Punitive attacks on these supply lines were conducted along the Libyan border, and a full expeditionary force was dispatched into Egyptian territory to scorch the earth, preventing any further cross-border incursions..._

 _...On 13.03.18, the USSR finally intervened directly on behalf of its fellow communist states, launching an ICBM strike against the newly established border emplacements and deploying its own forces to Cairo, whilst ordering its navy to Alexandria and also to blockade the Bosporus Straits out to the Aegean. The isolation of the UFE state of Turkey resulting from this action was deemed intolerable, and naval forces were dispatched from Greece, Macedonia, and Italy to intercede. In the resulting stand-off, an intended warning shot by the UFE flagship sank a USSR destroyer. The USSR admiral ordered an all-out response, resulting in a devastating naval battle for both sides..._

 _...On 15.03.18, war was officially declared and new battle zones opened up in Romania, Poland, and Scandinavia. The UFE struggled to redeploy its forces from the North African front to these new theaters and relied heavily on aerial bombardments to keep advancing USSR forces away from its borders. Under continuing strain to hold back the USSR's superior numbers, the president ordered another ICBM strike. This devolved into a broad exchange across the entirety of the conflict zone..._

 _...On 18.03.18, an early morning ICBM strike by the UFE against a presumed launch site and missile stockpile turned out to be a covert nuclear facility. Fearing the UFE was attempting to diminish its nuclear capabilities in preparation for a launch, the USSR launched five low-yield devices against UFE staging grounds. Massive military casualties resulted, and USSR troops began flooding into civilian areas, reaching as far as Warsaw and Helsinki, before, in desperation, the president ordered a counterattack..._

 _...On 20.03.18, after several exchanges and mutual strikes near civilian populations, a full nuclear exchange between the two powers ensued, involving multi-megaton warheads. China and the United Americas attempted to intervene by launching ICBMs to curtail each sides' ability to launch, but the USSR used its eastern facilities to respond with nukes..._

 _...On 23.03.18, launches from all sides ceased. Casualties were estimated in the hundreds of millions with fallout exposure leading to an ever-increasing death toll. Soot and smoke thrown high into the atmosphere by global firestorms lead to the onset of a nuclear winter..._

 _...On 30.03.18, all ground communications cease..._

 _...On 05.04.18, remaining near-surface survivors perish. Underground bunker survival rate unknown..._

 _...End summary..."_

I leave the sensorium circle, stumbling, wild-eyed with tears burgeoning. I can't go back even if I wanted to. There's really nothing left. I could very well be the last living person from my Earth. If there's truly no hope then I want to end this. I won't get access to a weapon again, not without a keycode for one of the armories in the lab. There's no way for me to exit the Institute into this reality. Even the scout craft and landing pads are sealed off from the external environment.

 _A Gate, I need to get through one..._

It doesn't matter which. With my reality a radioactive hellhole, none are survival to me anymore. If all else fails, I could probably regain access to the Core and throw myself from one of the higher gangways, or down the main elevator shaft. I take a step forward with renewed but final purpose but then, a shadow is cast from the doorway.

Someone familiar stands in my way.


	5. Chapter 5

_I understand the pain of losing all that matters. Maybe this could be the answer you seek...maybe..._

These words resonate in my mind, as I stare down incredulously at the thin, rectangular device in the palm of my hand. Could this really be the solution? After everything I've been through, was this really sitting in the same lab where I pilfered the invisibility device? A technology of similar purpose, but far more intricate and advanced.

All I was told was that it was obtained from a race who had originated on Earth, their Earth that is to say, but had fled across the galaxy millions of years before the emergence of humanity's most distant hominid ancestors. Their technology apparently rivals that of the Core and probing their specific regions of their realm has been deliberately limited in case they possess the means to detect such intrusions.

The device, I was told, works by shifting matter slightly out of phase with our dimension, much like the Core, rendering the user invisible to all outside observers. The user can still observe their surroundings but most importantly, there was scope for interaction.

They had been experimenting with the device in a parallel study with their work on the Core, hoping the user-friendliness of this device and ease of modification would help them understand the latter better. In the end, they had surmised that the two, while producing a similar effect, were widely different technologies in the sense of how each worked. The line of study was abandoned and the device archived.

Unknown to anyone else in the Institute, my benefactor had continued working with the device, hoping it could provide a solution to the problem I myself had been puzzling over, how to exist in other realities without dematerializing in a burst of gamma rays. After years of dedication, countless off-hours spent exploring and tweaking every facet of this device, maybe that leap had been made.

 _...But to test it._

I still find it hard to fathom. This thing looks like it belongs in the motherboard of a personal computer rather than being some remarkable technology that might defy the entire multiverse. I'm still wrapping my mind around the fact that everything I've sought since I've arrived here could now be in reach. Yet I must act quickly. Now two items have gone missing from the same lab. Given how much time my benefactor has spent there, they could come under suspicion for their theft. I doubt my involvement will remain a secret.

I have to get to a Gate quickly. They are all located in the Primary Sensoria, as it is through them that the observations of other realms are made. I barely remember coming through one myself, and come to think of it, I wasn't really shown them when I was originally brought around the Institute. I know they are kept separate for when new arrivals appear. I remember being carried by people in hazmat suits to an on-site medical bay and when I next opened my eyes, I was in a bed in the Main Infirmary. As I was being carried away from the Gate, I vaguely remember a distortion in the air rapidly diminishing between two rings, one upon the floor, the other on the ceiling.

It reminds me of the sensoria, except the rings had a three-dimensional shape and flashed a colour similar to that of the Core, the brightest points circuiting each ring in opposite directions. If this indeed was a Gate, then I have not seen one since and if that is the only place they are located, my chances of accessing one are practically nil. There is no way I could enter the Primary Sensoria unobserved, especially considering I often have seen Samantha and Scott heading there. I have no doubt that Marc, too, would be present, given it is the primary nexus of activity for the whole Institute.

Yes, it would be impossible. Could I fight my way past dozens of people, including an opponent with military training, one I cannot see, and if my observations on floor twenty-eight are anything to go by, one who may have extra-sensory perception? Samantha may well sense my intent before I ever enter the room. No, unarmed and without the element of surprise, that is a plan doomed to failure.

It's a good thing then that the person who supplied me with a solution to existing where I want to go also gave me the means to get there.

No sooner had we parted was I on my way there. Hurriedly, I made my way to the main elevator and took it to floor fifteen. I headed to the building's east side and now, here it is before me. The skyway extends across to what is generally regarded as the landing pads, but that is not all they are.

Beneath them, is a vast hangar bay for several dozen specialized craft. Each one can be deployed by the robotic infrastructure of the bay, hoisted from their moorings, and raised towards the bay ceiling, which parts way to admit the craft access to the outside environment. What I didn't know is that many of these craft are simply unmanned probes, disposable things mostly, replaced regularly by the bay's manufacturing facility.

 _You are right to believe Marc doesn't tell you everything. You asked for a way to be with those you love, in a sense. He does not believe this device can work. Therefore, he did not mention it to you. What he also neglected to mention is that travel to other realities, real, physical travel, is done regularly._

 _How?_

 _By holding Gates open. It can be done for a limited period of time. By doing so, the effect generated by the Core can bleed through to whatever reality is connected. In this way, probes, even personnel, can enter other realms and quickly perform tests, gather readings, and retrieve samples, which, of course, are stabilized by the Core once they arrive here._

 _And the probes launch from the hangar bay?_

 _Indeed, and so could you._

I need only stand in the Gate and utter the number of the realm I want to go to, exactly as I would in the sensorium.

 _20-87._

I stride across the skyway brusquely, breaking into a jog and then a sprint. It could be hours or even days before someone notices another item missing from that lab but then, it could just happen to be in the next minute. Besides, I've waited long enough.

I reach the doors of the main entryway to the hangar bay, and they part without need of a keycode. I then find myself in a corridor that turns sharply left up ahead. I round the corner and immediately plant myself flat against the wall. To my right, the wall I am pressed against is all glass and on the other side is what appears to be a control room, and there are at least two technicians inside. Along the opposing side are three doors, locked by keycode, and at the very end of the corridor, there is another larger door, also sealed.

I overcome my reflexive response to the situation and realize that I have the means to bypass this problem. I slip the phase-shift device from my jacket pocket. My benefactor said I need only press upon the middle section to activate it. I do so, but nothing seems to have happened. I wonder is the transition simply completely seamless with this device. Then I remember that it had already been modified specifically to allow me to be visible, to interact, but without exposing myself fully to whatever realm I'm in. I curse myself for not retrieving the invisibility device before coming here. It's too late now. I am committed to this course.

I can't see how I can get past without being seen. I'm sure if the technicians catch me trying to gain entry to the Hangar Bay then they would assume the worst and raise the alarm. Perhaps, they can lock everything down from the control room, including the Gate. No, that isn't how I'm going to do this. I step away from the wall, try to rid my body of the tension, and enter the control room as casually as possible.

There are only two technicians. The nearest to me mans a console just inside and to the left of the automatic glass doors. He is slight man, perhaps in his early thirties, of Oriental ethnicity. The other is a broader, taller man who looks to be Hispanic with a dark, barely kempt beard, and looks older, perhaps mid-forties. They both regard me with shock at first, but the bearded man quickly switches to eyeing me with suspicion.

 _So, they know exactly who I am, and one already suspects my being here._

I try to diffuse the situation. "Hello, perhaps you can help me. I seem to have gotten turned around. Can you direct me back to the main elevator?"

The bearded man responds, "Well, considering it's a straight shot back through the skyway, and I see you using the main elevator every day, I can't see how you managed to lose your way so much to end up all the way out here."

Well, that confirms it. Marc must have everyone forewarned about me. If Philips has already briefed him on our conversation earlier, then perhaps he has personnel in sensitive areas such as this on the lookout. I maintain my composure and brush off his comment, saying, "Of course, my mind was wandering a bit perhaps..." I make to leave before turning back and saying, "...but since I'm here anyway, could I perhaps have a better look at the Hangar Bay? My first visit here was so cursory, and I wasn't really in a place to take it all in."

"You'll have to make an official request to Marc before I can allow you to roam freely here."

"That's not what I'm asking for. You can, of course, supervise me the whole time I'm here."

The bearded man hesitates. He asks, "Can you not simply observe it from here? You have a full view of the whole bay anyway."

My clasped hands tighten behind me, as my patience wears thin. I just hope the strain isn't obvious in my expression. I manage to keep my voice even, if not amiable. "Marc and Philips have already allowed me access to the Core under supervision in order that I might get some clarity on what's possible for me going forward. I was disappointed. All I'm asking is that you let me do the same here, so that I can finally resign myself to my life here. I say all this knowing that Marc has probably already briefed you as such."

His eyes widen momentarily, and the other technician refuses to make eye contact.

 _So, it is doubly confirmed..._

"All I'm asking for is a few minutes of your time." I ask, managing to sound a little imploring.

He wavers once more before saying, "Look, I can show around via the perimeter gangway, but we're not going on to any craft, you understand? There are no launches scheduled today either, so don't get your hopes up."

No mention of the Gate, and he put noticeable emphasis on access to any of the craft. I just nod in agreement. It seems odd to me, however, that with a Gate present that they would be the primary concern. I know full well, as do they, that the craft are incapable of entering other realms themselves without the protection of the Core.

 _Oh, that's it..._

I could use one of the craft to go on a suicide flight. Even if I couldn't work out how to open a Gate and travel to another reality, closing it behind me, I could always fly out of range of the Core in this reality. This world is a dead rock enshrouded in a poisonous, crushing atmosphere, so I would be hurting no one. Even the Institute itself, being out of phase, would suffer no ill-effects from even a nearby multi-megaton blast.

Marc must have a lot of faith in my abilities, especially if he thinks I could work out how operate one of these craft on the fly, having never sat in the cockpit. Could they really be that user-friendly? I was in the UFE Airforce prior to switching roles to join Military Intelligence, moving on to specialise in counter-intelligence operations both internally and in pre-emptive or mop-up operations abroad. That was why learning that Central Command in London had been one of the places nuked, along with divisions in France, hit hard. Not nearly as much as knowing that my family and hundreds of others died solely to eliminate me, but it did mean that all my friends and colleagues were dead long before the resulting war ended everything.

Anyhow, my flight experience is limited. I logged perhaps a dozen hours solo discouraging incursions by enemy fighters and spy craft during the border dispute with Arabia along the Turkish frontier, and I shot down a few drones, but that was over ten years ago. I'd be lying to myself if I said I couldn't recall the basics, but I wouldn't be flying off in a pinch, even if I was suicidal and didn't care about the outcome.

The bearded man identifies himself as Matías and leads me back out to the door with a nod to the other technician. I follow close behind. I have no weapon with which to stun him. Whatever I do, it'll have to be quick. He starts entering the keycode. As he does so, he begins to say something, but he does not finish. In a split second, I catch the back of his head and shove it forward so his forehead meets the corner of the door as it opens. He goes down unconscious across the threshold. Only then do I realise my folly. There is another keycode-sealed door before me, along with protective suits racked to my left.

 _An airlock..._

I do not understand at first. After all, the Institute is out of phase. Even if there's a vacuum outside, would the air really rush out? Perhaps it would, but the precaution is there nonetheless, and now I've lost my opportunity in the worst possible way.

The klaxon alarms sound and the lighting turns a grisly red. Matías still lies motionless on the floor, preventing the airlock door from resealing, as I notice the door to the control room has done. I step over his limp body and walk right up to it. The doors do not part, and the other technician stands back from them and is armed. It looks like the stun weapon Scott wielded on level twenty-eight, but a pistol-like version.

Undoubtedly, whatever measures Marc can bring to bear will be in place quickly. I cannot afford to delay. I need to get in there. I pry the keypad panel away by brute force to reveal the glowing sapphire control crystals within. There are three, evenly spaced. I don't even know where to begin. I pull the top one, and the keypad simply loses power. Pulling the others just renders the buttons inert. I consider for a moment. If the top crystal regulates energy flow to the keypad and the two lower crystals administer the computational aspects, then perhaps...

I pull the middle crystal, which I surmise must be conductive to some degree, and use it to bridge the other two. There's an immediate electrical discharge from top to bottom, which burns my fingertips, causing me to drop the middle crystal. The whole control board sparks like crazy and shorts apparently because the control room doors fly open.

Immediately, the other technician starts shooting wildly into the hallway. He does not need to be accurate, as the weapon's blasts have a broad area of effect. I time his fire rate, judging when an opening will come. Then, with the control crystal in hand, I dive in front of the open doorway, flinging it in his direction. I hit the floor below the path of fire, barely escaping his next shot, just in time to see the crystal connect with his forehead with an audible thud. He stumbles back. It does little more than startle him, but it's all the opening I need. I lunge forward, immediately wrenching his arm upwards, as he resumes firing. A precision strike to the sternum winds him, and I relieve him of the pistol, bending his arm behind his back. I shove him towards his console, maintaining a tight grip. I push him down into his seat, as he recovers his breath, and hold the weapon to his temple.

"I presume you've locked everything down, including the Gate. Undo it, now!" I snarl, trying to be as menacing as possible.

"I-I can't...I won't..."

I press the nozzle of the pistol in harder. He winces as I reply, "Yes, you will. I know this weapon isn't intended to kill. However, I know it affects the nervous system, so I can't imagine a point-blank shot to head will end well for you. Now, I'll say it again, un-lock-the-Gate!"

He gulps and begins manipulating the controls on his console. The screen in front of him is unintelligible to me, but when reds turn to greens, I get the meaning. He says, "It's done, but I can't prove it to you."

"That's why you're coming with me. Get up!"

As I walk out into the hallway, with him in front, and holding the pistol to the back of his head, I shout, "Hands up where I can see them and walk straight. Don't so much as turn your head, do you understand?"

He nods frantically. I catch Matías shift slightly as we approach, but his whole body looks tense. Clearly, he's regained consciousness and hopes to jump me as I pass. I shoot around the other technician's torso, putting two blasts into his back, just to be on the safe side. My hostage shakes and lets out a pitiful whimper. I come around in front of him, eyes fixed and weapon still trained on his head, as I pull Matías across the threshold. As I stand without breaking my focus, I say, "Your name?"

"W-what?"

"Your name. What is it?"

"Chen."

"Okay, Chen, this is how it's going to work. You're going to put on a protective suit. Do it, now!"

He gingerly steps forward and takes down a random suit and helmet. I wonder is he too afraid to think straight, as the suit he has chosen looks way too baggy for him but as soon as he pulls the single-piece overall on, it automatically shrinks and molds to his body shape. Even the helmet reshapes itself to his head and joins seamlessly to the rest of the suit. He turns back to me, visibly shaking.

"Okay, turn around and lie face down on the floor." I say.

He complies hastily without question. Keeping my eyes and my weapon on him as much as is possible, I slip in to one of the suits and pull on a helmet. It responds to me in the exact same way. I'm not sure where the oxygen is coming from, but I do not feel my breathing to be hampered in any way. I'm about to command Chen to open the outer airlock door when I hear the footfalls of many people behind. I swivel around to see Scott, Samantha, and a half dozen technicians at the other end of the hall, all armed with either stun pistols like mine, or the phasers Scott and I used on the droid. He wields the 'rifle' version of the stun weapon.

With scarcely a moment's thought, I plant myself flat against the wall, as a shower of energy blasts and beams comes streaming through the doorway. Chen is still face down on the floor. So far, he has not been hit, and I can't afford him to be. I am outgunned. Marc may be present, and I have precious few seconds left to seal myself off before they're all upon me. It is then I spy the keypad for the outer door. I aim my pistol. I can't be certain if the energy of this weapon will be sufficient, but I've got nothing else. I fire three shots in quick succession. The keypad shorts just as before, and the door opens with a rush of air being suctioned out.

I slide along the wall, and Chen is flipped onto his back before being dragged out, only just managing to grab the gangway railing. In less than five seconds, what I hoped would happen comes to pass. Some emergency mechanism triggers the inner door, and it closes over, ending the decompression.

I regain my composure and still aiming my weapon, drag Chen up to his feet, and say, "The Gate, now." I say without thinking, but it seems the suits are automatically linked by internal comms, as he nods sheepishly in response. Not a second later, though, the lights go out, replaced only by the eerie crimson glow from the control room. I return my attention to Chen after a momentary slip. "What's going on?" I almost bark.

"Power has been cut to the entire Hangar Bay, probably from the Core."

"How do we get it back?"

"We can't. Not from in here. Not even from the local control room."

"...I presume that means the Gate is once again down."

"Yes...you...you should surrender. They'll get through that inner door eventually."

"Not if you're holding the outer door open." I put a shot in his right calf, and he crumples. I crouch down and put the nozzle to his head once more. I ask, "Now, are these craft independently powered?"

"Y-Yes..."

"And the bay doors, will they remain open?"

"They-they're always open to equalize pressure, inside with outside. They're only closed in an emergency, and that would require power."

"Good, I'm sorry I have to do this."

I stand and shoot him twice in the back. His body falls limp, and I quickly drag him across the threshold of the inner door. I turn and race along the perimeter gangway until I meet a set of stairs that I ascend to the next level, which is the nearest giving access to some of the Institute's multitude of craft. The first craft I encounter seems to be some kind of transport, perhaps designed to ferry a team to a site of interest. It reminds me of a troop helicopter without the blades. I hesitate, considering what I'm about to do.

 _They've left me no choice..._

I enter the craft from the rear, as the cargo door automatically opens, becoming a ramp into the rear compartment. There is nothing stowed aboard, and I proceed straight to the cockpit. There is a single seat with no obvious controls. Without much hesitation, I sit down and in instant, the reason why is revealed to me. A fine, balck mesh exudes from the seat and crisscrosses my entire body. My hands meld with the arm rests, my head and torso are pulled back into seat. When it is done, I am coated in solid layer that looks like obsidian. Only my face remains uncovered. A moment passes before the forward view port becomes a heads-up holographic display. From here, I do not know what to do. If this is some kind of control mechanism then I have no idea how I'm supposed to interact with it. I can't move. Eye movements don't affect it, nor do voice commands. I don't know what else I can try.

Just then, the display changes. A schematic of this section of the Hangar Bay appears, showing this level and the one below, which includes the airlock. The alert shows one stationary dot near the airlock door, which I can only presume is Chen, but he is surrounded by three other moving dots, and four more are approaching the stairway to this level. They must have sealed off the Institute at the skyway, allowing them to override the airlock emergency mechanism. The cargo bay door is up, but I don't know how to prevent them from boarding as I did. I strain against my unyielding bonds. I can't even get out of this bloody seat.

 _God damn it, I just want to fly out of here._

Suddenly, the schematic is replaced with a view of the Hangar Bay, and I realise that the craft is ascending. It keeps rising until the bay doors come in to view. I also see the Gate, looking exactly as in the flashes I gleaned from my memory, two rings, one on the highest level and the other on the ceiling above it and adjacent to the bay doors. They are inert, an opaque off-white colour when unpowered. The craft rises up and out of the bay, and I am greeted with the vista of a hellscape not unlike what I saw from the viewing deck. It hovers in place now, looking out on a toxic, barren landscape with the Institute at my back.

It dawns on me after a few moments that I thought what I wanted, and the craft complied. Perhaps this mesh has formed a neural interface of some kind, linking my mind directly to the onboard computer. I consider for a moment before framing the thought in my head. I cannot hesitate much longer. They may have a way to remotely override the neural interface and redock the craft. I can no longer wait. I think of where I want to go and a rough approximation of speed and angle of approach.

The craft zooms forward without any sensation of motion. It moves out a distance from the Institute before performing a return loop back, only it is not aiming for the Hangar Bay. After completing the loop, I rotate the craft's orientation and thrust so that the cargo doors are facing forward. I punch it as much as I dare. I have to get through and in one piece. I close my eyes and futilely tense my body against the coming impact.

I crash through the windows of the Primary Sensoria. Even given the speed and force of my impact, the exterior proves resilient, as my craft is still lodged in the glass pane, the cockpit still protruding into the outside environment. This is better than I hoped. This was a massive risk but especially if there were no countermeasures to prevent air rushing out into the interdimensional vacuum. I felt the impact, but whatever dampening system is in place negated most of it. I remain in awe of my success only a moment longer. I command the craft to release me and open the cargo doors with a five-second delay.

The black mesh retreats quickly, and I spring from my seat, my weapon at the ready, as the door lowers to reveal a ghastly scene. There are at least three technicians lying limp on the ground in proximity to the impact site. Glass shards are scattered everywhere, and the consoles these people manned flicker and spark, as energy surges through them. Maintaining my vigilance, I check each of them for a pulse. They are all alive, just unconscious, and with mostly superficial injuries. In my desperation, it hadn't even occurred to me that I might kill people doing what I just did. I hear a faint hiss of air coming from the direction of the craft. Obviously, the seal around it isn't perfect. These people may well die yet if the breach I've created isn't sealed off, which means intervention won't be long coming.

I know roughly where I am. This is one of the many support terminals where data gathered by those in the sensoria can be processed and catalogued based on significance. They are directly adjacent to the Primary Sensoria room via an open doorway. I follow the wall, crouched low, until I reach the exit before peering out. The alert lighting and the alarm are active here also, but there is little other sound because there's no one else here. I can't imagine people would evacuate a compartment on the verge of decompression and leave the injured behind. Yet as I emerge fully into the Primary Sensoria Chamber, there is no one.

I doubt they could have foreseen me crashing into the Institute. Indeed, they believed I was going to kill myself, so far as I know. I remain on the alert as I cross the room as silently as possible, bypassing the dozen multi-person sensoria and multiple adjacent rooms and alcoves for support staff until, at the far end of the room, I stand before what I sought.

A memory flashes of me being carried on a stretcher through these doors and on to the main Infirmary, having being stabilized inside. I remember seeing the door again on my tour a few weeks later, not present enough to ask about it or question why I wasn't just been shown. It is taller than most of the other doors I've seen in this facility. It might even be grand if it weren't so plain and functional. I step forward warily, weapon still raised, and it opens with an audible groan unlike the smooth parting of any other door in the Institute.

 _Not locked..._

I imagine then if you're authorised in the Primary Sensoria, you are permitted here, as well. Still, it astonishes me that it was so easy to get here, bar, of course, the commandeering of a craft and the subsequent kamikaze manouevre.

There are a dozen Gates, matching the number of multi-user sensoria, all lined along the far wall in front of me. To my right is the triage centre, separated from the Gates by glass walls. It is merely a half dozen medical beds and equipment I can't identify. To my left is another sectioned-off area containing lockers and benches. The entryway resembles an airlock with metal rings spaced about a foot apart. I surmise it is some kind of decontamination system and possibly a means to enact a temporary quarantine on travellers emerging from the Gate.

I spare these facilities but a fleeting glance, my attention focused upon the nearest Gate in front of me. My benefactor said they would work like the sensoria and without hesitation, I make a quick final stride until I am standing inside the ring.

"Stop, Jordan!"

It's Marc, accompanied by Samantha and Scott, and a number of other personnel standing behind, many of them armed. More are filing in to the Primary Sensoria, but I more hear their commotion than see them. I aim my weapon between Samantha and Scott. I may be massively outgunned but if I'm to be thwarted, I'll at least get _him_. That said, I note the Gate is still active. I need only say the numbers and be done with this place. I make to speak, but Marc says, "I know why you're doing this."

"You know nothing."

"I know that you possess a device that you believe will make everything you desire possible, but it won't."

So my benefactor either confessed or needs some lessons in being covert. It doesn't matter. It's not my problem anymore. I reply, "I won't listen to your lies any longer, Marc. You lied to me about the Gates. You lied to me about how you retrieve technologies and even live beings. I've been to the upper levels..."

Scott says, "Marc, let me take him. I have a clean shot."

"You know we can't risk firing energy weapons at the Gate. Jordan, whatever you believe, believe me when I say that device you're carrying, if it works at all, will not last."

Samantha adds, "Jordan, please. None of this is what you think."

"I believe you no more than I do him, Samantha. I'm done here. I'm leaving."

"Jordan! Whatever about this other little girl, the woman you're trying to reach, she isn't the same as the one you lost. She's not your Sheila."

I regard her coolly for one last moment before saying, "I'll be the judge of that. Take me to Gate 20-87, Limerick City, Ireland."

The rings flash. The air around me distorts until I cannot make out anything. There is momentary darkness before reality snaps back around me. I look around in a slow arc.

 _I'm home..._


	6. Chapter 6

_I'm really here..._

I have but a moment to stand in awe before a honking horn alerts me that I'm in the middle of a street. I turn and an angry, bald man in glasses is beeping at me from the seat of his plush personal car. His face is reddening, and he almost looks ready to come out to me. I get my bearings enough to find my way to the footpath. The driver motors on, eyeing me petulantly through his driver-side window.

I then have a moment of realisation. I pat at my jacket until I find the phase-shift device in my inside pocket. Holding it in my hand, I stare at it intently and then glance around. I am on a side street in an intact city, untroubled by strife and war, in another reality. I am really, actually here and moreover, I have been seen.

I reach out and place my hand on the brick wall of a nearby building. I feel its texture. I feel the gap where the brick gives way to mortar. I push against it, and it resists. I am not immaterial or some kind of spectre who can only observe. I am real, not just present. I allow myself a smile, a real one. I can remember clearly the last time I did that, enjoying a beautiful day with those I love, right before the bomb dropped.

I retreat from the memory. There is no further need to torture myself with it. I will never truly forget, and I shouldn't, but somewhere in this world, there is an opportunity for me to be happy again, and I intend to take it.

I scan my surroundings with greater scrutiny. This street adjoins two others and has no shop fronts, only the rear of businesses. I know because of all the non-descript doors and the rubbish skips that occupy most of the scant pavement. There are a few vehicles parked here. I note a few personal cars and a van. They are all far more extravagant models than would be typically available to citizens of the UFE. Up ahead, there is considerable pedestrian traffic, and more cars passing by. I stroll in that direction, disconcerted that I still can't get my bearings in a city I should know like the back of my hand.

A woman turns off the main street ahead and passes me by. Her eyes linger on me with bewilderment but then, she continues on without changing her pace. I don't quite get it, at first, but then as I emerge onto the pavement by the main street, I get few more odd stares from passersby, as they go about their business. It occurs to me that my attire might be what's drawing their attention. I am still wearing the standard Institute uniform of an engineer, which is all I've worn for seven months. I'd forgotten what it was to dress in anything else, and not just from lack of caring for appearances. I just chose this getup in the beginning because it seemed like the most functional but now, I guess it looks a little costumey.

I try to act casual as I walk down the street, ensuring not to make eye contact with any onlookers. I come to a four-way junction with pedestrian crossings on every converging street, each flanked by automated traffic lights. Every street front is some kind of department store, or restaurant, or café. Many people come and go from each with paper bags filled with purchases or with copious amounts of food. It all seems so frivolous and thoughtlessly wasteful. Such behaviors would have been frowned upon in the UFE.

Nearly everyone has some manner of device in their hands, even people in groups are just standing together whilst staring zombie-like at their screens. The Limerick I remember was at the forefront of a naval cold war. It was where all North Atlantic operations were headquatered. As such, it was a military city, prepared at any time for conflict to erupt and so, there was discipline and patriotism, but also pride and camaraderie. This place seems like some expansive open-air mall, akin to what they had in the United Americas before the final war. I am surrounded by people, a bustling city, yet it all seems so bleak and purposeless.

I wait for a traffic signal to allow pedestrians to cross. That's when I notice the bridge, and I begin to understand where I am. I'm looking out on the Ennis Road Bridge that crosses the Shannon. In my reality, this shopping district would have been a place people would come to get their assigned rations and whatever other provisions were available, depending on what specific needs they had. Naval Headquarters would be an extensive facility occupying most of the opposite bank with docks further downstream in the deeper waters of the estuary. As I half-jog to the riverside, all I see are hotels and townhouses. On the water, there are more swans than boats when normally, patrol boats would pass without cease.

I continue on down the river-walk, buried in my thoughts. In my reality, we were never officially at war with the USSR, nor any of its Soviet satellite states, but there was always a conflict raging underneath. There may have been little in the way of open warfare beyond occasional border skirmishes, but there were proxy wars in parts of Africa and Asia where the Russian bear had still not fully extended its reach. There was a constant exchange of fire in the form of covert ops. Espionage, sabotage, attempted assassinations, it would all go on mostly out of sight of the public, except where one side or another scored a major hit.

What had the most profound impact, though, was not the wars of influence, or the cloak and dagger attacks, but the wars of trade. Naturally, the UFE and the USSR did not engage in any mutual trade, and both sides saw fit to embargo each other's allies. With the Soviets able to continue to trade with the Chinese via land and the Americas via the Pacific, it left Europe at a disadvantage, bordered on all sides by hostile nations, except for the Atlantic frontier. However, even here, covert Soviet naval operations would attempt to frustrate Trans-Atlantic trade, and operatives would board vessels to foul cargo or sink them altogether. This left the UFE mostly isolated and self-reliant.

I remember times when crops would fail in the breadbaskets of Europe, and everyone would go without, surviving on meagre rations. Two years prior, a poor wheat harvest combined with a widespread potato blight meant half rations on each for months until new crops could be sown and the blight eliminated. My wife and I made the choice to halve our own rations again, so our little girl wouldn't have to go without. Life could certainly be hard in the UFE, but we made the best of it.

Being in this world is therefore understandably jarring. When I surveiled her, I believed I'd come to know this version of my wife, that I'd come to understand her life. Yet I've been here for a scant few minutes, and I feel blindsided. Was I really paying attention? If this is the world she grew up in, surely she would live the same as all these other people. When I think back on all those hours spent in the sensoria, yes, I was paying attention, but to her and her alone. I was looking for my wife in her.

Certainly, there were many similarities, the way she smiled disapprovingly when our little Emily did something particularly sassy, or how she would read her bedtime stories right until the end, even if Emily fell asleep by the second page. There were lots of little things that I mostly only saw when she was with her daughter. Outside of that, in the long evenings and many sleepless nights I observed, she was troubled, I could see that much. This Sheila is different. She is withdrawn, fragile. I never tried to learn why, I realise now. I never learned why she was always sad, why she was scarred, what had happened to the version of me in this reality. All I was focused on was getting to her, and maybe making her happy again. Maybe if I could, she'd be more like the Sheila I remember.

I remember now, too, that I never saw her going out much. She brought her daughter to school and collected her. She spent most of those hours between on a personal computer, working from home it seemed. Occasionally, she would bring Emily out somewhere, but never into the city or any other urban area. She always took her out into the country, more often than not to the park that we share in common, though I don't know what her reasons for going there are. For me, it was where I proposed to Sheila, at sunset on the steps of the old manor house under the guise of an evening picnic date. There had been some bountiful harvests that year, including of grapes, so I managed to get a small bottle of wine. My Sheila brought me back to that exact same place again two years later to tell me she was pregnant.

So, I hadn't paid enough attention, and she limits her exposure, and by extension her daughter's, to life in general. I'm an intelligence operative and yet I neglected to familiarise myself with this world and instead hurled myself headlong into it. I didn't have a choice about the manner of my arrival, but I could have at least become informed about this realm. I know nothing of its culture, such as it is, and If I'm to gain this Sheila's trust...

 _What am I even thinking?_

Her husband is gone, that much I know. If I just suddenly appear on her doorstep, there are going to be questions, obviously. I was never going to be able to deceive her in any way. I don't even know the circumstances of my counterpart's death. I'm just going to have to tell her the truth and hope she buys it. It's no longer important, all these contrasts between this world and mine, it is merely a distraction. I'm scared, so I'm analyzing everything because it's holding me back. I have to go to her now. She is mere miles away, finally within my reach. I want to hold her and Emily, take their pain away, make their lives whole again. Everything else is just trivialities that I can get accustomed to.

I return to the main street and see a series of public buses parked up in front of one of the bigger department stores. One is boarding and bears the name of the place I want to go in a digital display at the front. A man in a business suit is coming my way, as I walk towards them. I deliberately collide with him, mutter an apology, as he hollers to watch where I'm going, and swipe his wallet from his jacket pocket. I take the cash and drop it by the curb before getting on-board. The engine revs up. The bus moves off.

 _I'm going home. Sheila, Emily, I'm coming..._

The bus stop is not far from her home, _my_ home. Out here, in the suburbs, things aren't so different. The homes are certainly less plain, a lot more varied, but I recognise things. There are tall trees and neatly trimmed hedgerows exactly where I expect. Across the road from my neighbourhood is a series of shops, a barbers, and a post office. The shops would have been local ration dispensaries, but that doesn't matter. The layout, the shape, the feel of the place is familiar, and I don't feel so lost anymore.

I carefully tread the pavement, slowly making my way through, taking it all in. I can name all my neighbours for up to two blocks in every direction. I made a point of getting to know them all, their routines, their habits. Some of it was my training seeping into my personal life but like I said, my Limerick was a grand community. We all had to stick together and work hard to keep our city safe and functioning, playing its integral part in our great conflict with the Soviets. Civilian and naval vessels that had been the victims of sabotage or a covert strike would often limp back to port along the estuary, and their wounded would be tended to in our hospitals. Our critical position meant we were also under constant threat of Soviet-sponsored terrorism and despite our vigilance, some succeeded in hurting us.

Those were the truly difficult times, when we watched a plume a smoke rising from somewhere in the city through our windows, feeling guilty with the relief that it wasn't us. However, we would all come together, to repair the damage, help the afflicted, and help the authorities in any way we could. It was always the way of things. Everyone helped everyone in our frontline city, and I imagine they continued doing so until the end finally came.

I take a left into a cul-de-sac that is separated from the busy main road by a strip of well-mowed grass. The footpath continues along it and parallel to the road in front of the homes that face out upon it. Three doors down, I see what I came here for.

When I first lay eyes on it, I have to catch my breath. I know already what it looks like from viewing it on the sensoria but to see it in person, to look at this place that is almost a perfect replica of the home I remember. Tears well in my eyes. I could have it all back. I just have to do this next part right.

I am still clueless of what to say. I know only the truth will make sense but even thinking it out in my head, it seems just laughable. Yet I have no other options. When I first viewed this realm and noticed my counterpart's absence, I only searched for his whereabouts and was promptly informed by the sensoria display that the person I sought was deceased. At the time, I was so completely overwhelmed by my discovery that it never crossed my mind to look into how he died. To be honest, that wasn't the only reason. I was so embittered by having to review the profiles of so many failures and in contrast, so many happy versions of myself that I refused to investigate another.

All I needed to know was that he wouldn't get in my way.

I realise I've been standing in the same place, staring, for a good few minutes. I know there's nothing else for it. I must do this and hope for the best. Just as I'm about to take a step forward, the door of the nearest house to me opens and out emerges an elderly woman, carrying some fabric bags and a set of keys. She's dressed in a rather garish flower-pattern dress and a relatively plain, lavender cardigan. She's about to turn to lock her front door when she catches sight of me. She squints for a moment, realises her glasses are hanging from her neck, puts them back on, and then...then her face drops. She looks pale, shakes her head slightly, and then, before I can say a word, hurries inside and slams her door behind her.

I'm a little taken aback by her reaction but then, I try to imagine what it would be like to see a dead man standing before you. I shake it off and put one foot in front of other. I'm going to do this. It's all I've been waiting for for the better part of seven months.

Standing before the front gate, it's even more remarkable to behold, just how similar this house is to my original home. It is painted white while the window sills and verges are a light blue. The front door is sheltered by a small porch supported by smooth wooden pillars, also stark white. The gate and perimeter walls follow the same colour scheme, and the front garden is merely a footpath dividing up a neatly mowed lawn. It's all very simple, something Sheila always yearned for. I, myself, had no designs on styling our home, even with the limited options available to us. It brings me a certain calm and even a small feeling of joy that the woman who lives in this house shares that with my wife. Some part of her, whether a few shared traits or a nearly indistinguishable person, still lives on.

I open the gate, fumbling with the latch, and it swings slowly with a familiar whine. I take each step slowly, as I approach the door. I can't will myself to go any faster, though I know one way or another, I'm going to get there, that this is going to happen. I reach the porch, take the step, and force my hand up towards the doorbell. My finger hovers a centimetre from the button. Just when I've worked up the last of my will to push it, the door swings open. A woman stands before me, but she is not Sheila.

She is blonde, brown-eyed woman, probably a few years younger than myself. In her hand is a set of keys, one for a car. She was obviously just leaving, and I startled her. She takes a step back inside the threshold and asks, "Can I help you?" Her voice sounds Eastern European, Polish I believe.

I stutter over my first few words, but then I manage to say, "I'm here to see Sheila. Is she home?"

"Sheila is out running some errands. Do you want me to tell her you stopped by?"

"Will she be long?"

"I suppose not. She's gone as far as the shopping centre, but I must go now to pick up her daughter from school."

"Are you a housekeeper, childminder?"

"Just a friend. I live three doors down. Our daughters go to school together. We help each other out when we can."

"Well, I can wait till everybody's back. It was nice meeting you."

"Thank you..." Her mouth moves to say something else, as she scrutinises me a moment, and then she walks past me back the direction I came.

As I come back to the gate, I notice she quickens her pace and takes a furtive look back at me, as she rounds the corner, out of sight. I noticed, as well, while she did a good job of keeping her voice even, her body and face gave away how tense she was in my presence. Maybe it isn't something the average person would pick up on, but my training makes me very aware of conspicuous behaviour in those around me. My professional side is throwing up red flags that I should be concerned, especially given the elderly lady's strong reaction to me, as well. Yet, my heart, my grief, my yearning, they all suppress my better judgement.

I wander away from the house onto the thin strip of grass separating the pavement from the main road. Traffic is picking up, probably for the school run and the beginning of evening rush hour. I hear sirens in the distance. The sound seems to be drawing nearer. Then I hear footsteps behind me.

I turn and standing at the corner is the woman I love.

"Sheila..." I utter.

She is radiant. Her red hair glistens in the afternoon sun, as strands waft in the slight breeze. She wears a simple white dress, cinched at the waist by a brown leather belt, with a pale grey shawl wrapped around her shoulders. Her sapphire blue eyes are welling with moisture. Is she on the verge of tears? Her expression doesn't look sad to me. Confused perhaps? I'm too in awe of being in her presence to think straight. Without speaking another word, I almost, on autopilot take a step forward. I want to go to her, to hold her again.

She gasps and retreats. In that moment, it is undeniable. She is afraid.

I wonder what my counterpart from this reality could have done to inspire that reaction. My moment of near euphoria evaporates to be replaced by a mix of rage and an unreasoning feeling of shame. In my distraction, I don't notice for a second that Sheila has run. She races right past me and through her gate before I can even react. She frantically rams her house key in the lock and swings the door open.

I come back into the garden and shout after her, "Sheila, wait, please, let me explain."

She answers with a gun.

It's a standard nine-millimeter pistol. Anyone in the UFE could get one for personal protection, and people were free to carry them openly but not concealed, as not to make it easy for the Russian operatives. However, to see one in her hands, her shaking hands. Tears escape her eyes. She's holding it all wrong, and her aim wavers up and down. Nevertheless, at such close quarters, she'd be unlikely to miss.

I consider my options. She's clearly terrified, panicking. Any false move on my part could lead her to fire. I raise my hands slowly but even that action causes her to tighten her grip on the pistol. Her eyes are wild. Just a little more pressure on the trigger, and she'll shoot. I gulp slightly, readying to speak, hoping saying something will diffuse the situation. "Sheila, I can explain everything. Please put the gun down."

The gun still aimed squarely at my chest, she breaks down crying, the tears streaming now. Through sobs, she utters, "No...why, why did you have to come back?"

"Sheila, I'm not who you think. I'm someone different. Let me..."

"NO!"

Her scream accompanies the gunshot. I had been trying to edge gradually closer in the hopes of disarming her, but I fell perhaps a foot short of were I needed to be. The tightening below my right shoulder is my first clear indication that I'm hit. Then I glance down to see the blood spreading through my t-shirt. I stagger back towards the entrance, remembering to put my hand on the wound to apply pressure. My head is spinning a bit. It takes me a minute to realise that Sheila has gone again. I half fall towards the gate, bracing myself against it, and open it in a daze before stumbling out into the grass, staring about me in confusion.

I'm not sure if it's just the gunshot wound that has me completely addled. Despite my grievous injury, I just can't comprehend what has happened here. This was supposed to be the answer, to my pain, my grief, and just as importantly, I thought I'd be the answer to hers, too. I had fixated on her and this place for months, this reality that seemingly cancelled out the loss of my own. Yet now I find myself on the verge of death at the hands of the woman I had come to save, to heal, to love.

I fall on my knees. The bullet hit something important for sure, as the blood is seeping through my top and between my fingers. My vision is blurring now. My thoughts are becoming muddled. Is this really how it ends, after everything I've been through? I may well be the last living person from my reality, and I'll die here in obscurity, just a story of a man killed by his wife, and I won't even know why.

 _I should have learned why._

I want to close my eyes. The last thing I remember seeing are flashes of red and blue, sirens perhaps, and the blurry image of a redhaired woman, standing at a distance, the arms of another woman draped about her shoulders.


	7. Chapter 7

My hearing returns before anything else.

There is a faint beeping in my right ear, as though it is some distance away. Then I hear muffled voices. I can't make out any words, but they seem agitated like they're arguing. The conversation ends before I can discern who or how many people are speaking.

I begin to become aware of my body. I know I'm lying down, and I can move my fingers, though trying to raise a hand to my face is more effort than I can manage. I feel a residual tightness in my chest, and then everything comes flooding back.

 _Sheila. I was there. I made it._

 _She was standing right in front of me, within reach._

 _She shot me...why did she do that?_

 _Why...?_

 _...How am I alive? Why must I be alive?_

I feel my eyes welling up beneath my eyelids. My respiration rises, and my body tenses. If I'm thinking, I'm breathing, and there's only one way that could be. I remember all the blood. I remember rapidly losing conscious. I should be dead, and I wish to be. Yet I'm among the living in the very place I was trying to escape from.

"I told you, you know, that she wasn't your Sheila."

I freeze on hearing Samantha's voice, clearer now and much closer. It clicks then that it was her I'd heard when I first woke, arguing with Scot and possibly Marc. I force open my eyes, and harsh, white light bursts in from directly above. I turn my head to the right, as much as I can manage, to see her standing over me, her face totally neutral.

She's another person I've never truly looked at properly. Her raven hair hangs shoulder length, framing her heart-shaped face. Of all her features, by far the most striking are her vividly violet eyes. With her face shaded from the overhead lighting, they are intense enough that they seem to glow, though I wonder am I still just disoriented from my ordeal.

Not changing her expression and her tone flat, she says, "This place must really want you."

"I'm back."

"Indeed you are, and I'm at a loss as to why."

I detect a hint of anger in her voice but if that's the case, then she's suppressing her emotions very well. I simply ask, "How?"

"It's as I said, the Institute wants you. As for its fellows, well..."

"You're saying...it drew me back, like the first time?"

"You'd been gone no more than a few hours when the Gate spat you back out, unconscious and bleeding to death. The bullet severed your subclavian artery. You're fortunate that you hadn't lost more blood. Otherwise what triage options we had wouldn't have been enough to stabilise you, at least not long enough to get you up to the infirmary."

"You should have just let me die."

"Maybe..." I look at her, a little jarred by her response. "...But that is not our way and like I've told you many a time, you're here for a reason. If this doesn't get that through to you, I don't know what will."

"I don't want a purpose, or a reason to be. My last hope died when she shot me. There's nothing left for me, not here or anywhere else."

Samantha cast her eyes downward and nodded. "That is, of course, your decision. You're welcome to use a Gate to travel to another reality where death would be assured, or you could go have your alternate wife shoot you again. It doesn't matter really, and no one will try to stop you this time. I highly doubt, too, that the Institute will intervene on your behalf a third time. No point in saving someone who doesn't want to be saved."

She turns to leave but stops several feet from the end of my bed. Without turning back to look at me, she says, "I told Marc I would speak with you, and I've done that. If you have no will left to live, then nothing I can say to you will change that, nor anything else I might do. Still, the Institute called you back, so the least we can do is be upfront with you."

"What do you mean?"

"When you're ready, go find Marc before you do anything...final. I ask you as the only person who stood with you through all your sorrows and your self-destruction. Hear him out. You owe me that much."

With that, she leaves, and I'm too weak to lift my head to see her go. I don't want any of this anymore. I just want it all to end whether my family is waiting for me, or only oblivion. Yet her words have embedded in my mind like a painful splinter, and I feel as though I can only be free if I do as she asks.

I close my eyes and try to rest only to be haunted by the realisation that when she "spoke" to me with her back turned, I heard nothing, at least not with my ears, and more, when I responded to her, I did not speak, not aloud anyhow.

My recovery was swift. I didn't recognize any of the devices the infirmary staff used on me to heal my injury or replenish my body after the severe blood loss. I just took them at face value when they told me what they were doing. When I felt ready, I left without a word.

I find myself standing here now, outside the infirmary door. I can take the elevator back to the Primary Sensoria, make my way to the Gates and be done with this, or, alternatively, I could just go outside into the realm the Institute currently occupies. Either way, the result would be the same. Yet that splinter Samantha left in my mind still lingers, feeling as though it is digging deeper, piercing through my consciousness.

I can't shake it any longer. I just feel compelled to do this one last thing, for her. I doubt it'll change anything. My conversations with Marc have been a source of endless frustration. Yet she implied that, this time, his intention is to enlighten me. I guess I'll be the judge of that.

I force my body forward, make my way to the elevator. Something inside me still resists. I feel the guilt, the grief, the debilitating agony, all of it calls me away, to reach for that crescendo of my self-harm. Yet that splinter just buries in deeper every time and so, I carry on painfully slow, in complete discomposure.

When I finally reach the last corridor leading up to the elevator, Scott stands in my way.

"So, she convinced you?"

I notice he is armed, with a standard 9mm, which he has holstered. In fact, I'm almost certain it's the same make and model as the gun with which Sheila shot me. I don't know if his intention is to rattle me, but he's clearly disappointed that I'm not off to die, though I can't see how he could know my intentions.

I regard him coolly, but the effect is mostly lost as I visibly struggle with myself. He would make a worthy opponent, I'll give him that. The man looks like he makes extensive use of the Institute's gyms. His angular features make his expression seem even more stern, yet it is somewhat softened by the baby blue eyes and the sandy blonde hair. He favours me with a look of complete venom. However, as much as I'm barely holding it together, I find the strength to say through gritted teeth, "Step aside, Scot. I'm not in the mood to spar with you right now."

"And what if I am?" He says, gripping his holstered pistol, for effect, I presume.

"That would be a mistake, on your part."

"Forgive me, Jordan, but you don't exactly look like a man at the height of his powers."

"Even on my worst day, I could still take you down with an arm tied behind my back. Unless you intend to take the coward's option and use that gun."

"No satisfaction in that really, especially after everything you've done. You have some gall, Jordan. You've hurt people. You could have killed some of them all because of your reckless, selfish determination to wrest your past life back from the multiverse, and after all of that, she tried to kill you, because she feared you, hated you."

"Shut up."

"You know it's true. You saw it yourself in her eyes, right before she pulled the trigger. You know I really hoped that phase-shift device would fail, and that you'd just cease to be, but what actually happened, that punishment is far more fitting for the crime. After all you did to finally reach a version of the woman you loved, this one not only would never love you back, but she would rather take your life than let you into hers."

"If you want me to kill you, you're heading down the right path."

He strolls forward, still with a firm grip on his weapon. He stops barely a foot from my face, looming over me with his small height advantage. "You should have died there, Jordan. It's what you deserved but for reasons I really can't fathom, the Institute itself pulled you from the brink of death, again. I argued vehemently not to treat you, but Marc and Samantha saw it as their duty to at least offer you this second chance. Really though, what place could you possibly have here after all of this?"

He walks around me, only breaking his focus on me when he stands by my right side where he pauses. I wait as he inhales deeply, seemingly considering. I ask, "Was that all, or do you have more to get off your chest?"

"Just get it over with. You know you want to. I know your fighting against whatever Samantha implanted in your mind. It's because you don't want this. You want an end, not hope, not some revelation, and that's what Marc wants to offer you. Save yourself the bother and go to the Gates. Not that I want you to have a quick death, but it is fast and painless."

As he walks off, my body trembles from the struggle within. The compulsion Samantha seeded inside my mind now feels less like a splinter and more like a searing hot knife planted deep in my skull. Everything I am feels ready to leave this life behind and yet, as I enter the elevator, shaking and with perspiration rolling down my face, I know the Gates are not my destination. I take it up to the twenty-fourth floor.

Somehow, I have a feeling.

I emerge into my familiar haunt and without much thought, I make way to the viewing deck, my pace a little staggered, as I continue to battle with myself. After a final breathless push, I lurch in, bent over with my hands planted on my knees. I feel as though I've done a few rounds of hundred-meter sprints.

When my breathing finally moderates, I look up to see an all too familiar sight. A vast, dense forest stretching out before me, the wilds of an untamed Vancouver. Before I can wonder as to why we've ended up back here, Marc announces himself. "I thought perhaps that this might be somewhat soothing after your ordeal. I asked Philips to return us to this dimensional line for the moment. His work with the Core is coming on splendidly."

It takes me a second to determine that he's perhaps a dozen feet in front of me, standing in front of the window. I find myself recovering rapidly, breathing normalising, calm returning, and my head no longer feeling like it's about to split open. I straighten myself up and relax the tension from my body.

"It does pass rather fast once its purpose has been met."

"What's that?"

"Samantha's compulsion. It's a rather hard thing for her to do, especially on our minds, especially yours since you'd already surrendered to absolute despair. Turning the tide for you must have been exceptionally difficult for her."

I can't even begin to wrap my head around what he means, but he's right about one thing, I feel the dejection return sharply but also a rising resentment that I was made to come here. "Good, you're angry. A potent emotion to counteract your misery, it's just as she predicted."

"I'm tired of your manipulations, Marc. What is this? Why have you brought me here? What did Samantha do to me?"

"So many questions, all of which I'll answer. I did always say to just ask."

"No. You were never honest to begin with, or you would have told me about Adimu's research."

"Ah yes, the phase-shift device. It did perform better than I anticipated. Alas, only modestly."

"What do you mean? It allowed me to be in that reality for hours without any ill-effects."

"Well, it wasn't on your person when you returned, and you made a rather dramatic exit, witnessed by many. That's not the norm for most arrivals to the Institute. As you can imagine, we had somewhat of a cleanup on our hands."

"What did you do?"

"Before the people involved could disperse too widely, we opened a Gate to 20-87 and sent personnel to administer memory suppressants and retrieve any foreign items. One of the paramedics, who arrived moments before you returned to us, removed your jacket in order to treat you. Unfortunately, you then disappeared right before their eyes and only a few moments later, the phase-shift device failed beneath the pressure of the universe weighing down upon it and it, along with your jacket, flashed into energy in the form of hard gamma rays."

It doesn't take long to dawn on me. "Sheila?"

"She was exposed along with a half dozen others, including her partner."

"Partner?"

He pauses, and I sense he's taking a long hard look at me. "You really didn't investigate her properly at all, did you? You just focused on those moments in her life that most resembled your own memories. Her moments alone, her wanderings in the countryside, when she'd take her daughter to that park. By the way, you should consider yourself fortunate that you arrived when you did. Otherwise, all these events would have transpired in that little girl's presence."

"Enough!"

"Hardly. Your record in your own reality has you down as a fastidious agent, well respected within your nation's intelligence apparatus. We're all human, though, and on such a personal endeavour, I suppose not all your faculties could be engaged. You certainly paid little heed to the details of your counterpart's life. If you had, you might have tried a different approach than just showing up on the poor woman's doorstep. Maybe you would have even reconsidered altogether."

"Stop being cryptic. You brought me here so I would listen. Now give me the answers!"

"Your, shall we say, alter ego was not a model citizen. He had certain commonalities with you, intelligence, attention to detail, covertness, but, unlike you, he used them for unscrupulous ends. He was a major drug distributor in Limerick City and the broader region, funneling imported cocaine from Colombia to dozens of dealers. He had numerous gang affiliations, even a few paramilitary connections, and he accrued significant financial wealth along with a reputation for cruelty and violence. Anyone who crossed him did not roam free long after, and then did not live much after that, but long enough to suffer."

I sit down, almost staggering back into a seat, completely shell-shocked. I say, "That can't be. Of all the realms I observed, my...alter egos...were more or less like me, but they applied their skills to different things. Soldiers, police officers, firemen, even some paramedics and doctors but near as I could tell, they were all good men who loved their families."

"I can't speak to this Jordan's feelings towards his wife and daughter. Maybe in the beginning, he was that person, but he was inducted young into a criminal enterprise by an older friend, realised he was good at it, and everything progressed from there. The drugs, the arms dealing, the violence, the murders, until he was kingpin of the entire regional drug trade. Even local law enforcement were cowed by him, partly because his meticulousness in all things left virtually no evidence with which to convict. He knew, too, how to get people on the inside or, failing that, make them fear for their families' safety."

"And Sheila, Emily?"

"They suffered, too. Either because of the lifestyle with the constant exposure to drugs, guns, and his associates, or the threats made to them, and even several attempts on their lives and his carried out by rival gangs. Then things turned worse when he became too fond of the violence, and Sheila, too, began to suffer directly at his hands."

"He...he beat her."

"And Emily if he could, though Sheila often protected her with her own body. Ultimately, though, his spousal and child abuse became his downfall."

"How so?"

"A new and determined police commissioner, who hailed from Limerick originally, made it his mission to take him down. He saw Sheila as a possible backdoor to attain evidence to pin him with something and get him off the streets. When first approached, she was too afraid to go behind his back but when Emily's safety came into greater peril from another attempted hit, she came to them and offered to testify and provide information on his entire operation, in exchange for protection. Before long, multiple raids were organised across the city on addresses Sheila had heard your alter ego mention. Millions in drugs were seized, hundreds of weapons, and most of his associates folded when caught red-handed."

"So, he was arrested?"

"No. One of his remaining informants gave him a heads-up that Sheila was speaking to the police, and he managed to get out of the country long before the raids commenced. He was out of Europe by the time it all went down. From there, he took refuge in Rio, Brazil. No extradition, you see. He remained there for some years, trying to work his way up with local gangs and drug lords. His failure at home did not go unnoticed, however, by his counterparts in Colombia. A price was put on his head, and he fled Rio. He made it to Brasilia and was looking for a way to get to Amazonas in hopes of regrouping and coming up with a plan to escape his pursuers, or pay his debt to them."

"But they caught up with him?"

"No again, while trying to traverse the southern reaches of the rainforest on foot, he took a fall down a steep slope. He broke a leg, an arm, and incurred several spinal fractures. He died there, alone, from dehydration and exposure, after three days. His body was never recovered because no one was looking and between the environment and the animals, it wasn't long before there wasn't anything to find."

"So, as far as Sheila was concerned, he was still on the run."

"And then you showed up on her doorstep, her worst nightmares realised."

"...I don't blame her for shooting me." I was a terror to her. All my hopes were delusions. There was no way I could ever have reached that woman, let alone made her feel safe and loved. All she would ever have seen was the face of a career criminal who hurt her and their child. It then dawns on me what Marc said before. "Marc, the radiation, is she okay?"

"Everyone exposed was treated. There will be no lasting effects, though most of them will feel rather rough for the coming few days."

With that, I hear his footsteps tread towards me. I think he stops right by my side, though nothing else indicates his location. A moment of uncomfortable silence lingers a little too long and so, I ask, "Why couldn't you have told me any of this in the beginning? Before my obsession grew, before I did...anything that I did. I succeeded, and it was doomed from the outset. She tried to kill me because she so desperately feared my counterpart, and I could have killed her, because I thought I could outmaneuver the universe."

He doesn't respond immediately, and not until I'm on the verge of getting frustrated. "Tell me something, Jordan. Had I told you all this months ago, how do you think you would have reacted, honestly now?"

I opened my mouth to speak because I already know the answer. It's just that I'm finally beginning to fathom Marc's motivations. I say, "I either would have ended it there and then, or I wouldn't have believed you, and carried on regardless."

"More like the latter, wouldn't you say?"

I do not answer, but I feel myself wavering in my resolve. It's all rushing in on me now. Marc, Samantha, they were right from the beginning, and he is right now. Given what I perceived to be at my disposal, I would have exhausted every possible avenue until I was certain there was no way to get my family back. I always believed that death would be preferable to failure because it at least offered some remote possibility that I might rejoin them. Perhaps, there'd be some perfect afterlife awaiting me. Now, I'm not so sure anymore, not of anything.

I hear Marc take a few steps towards the entrance. He stops and says, "So, shall we?" I can tell from the sound of his voice that he is facing me.

I look into the space by the door and say, "Shall we what?"

"I think you know. Have I not at least given you pause, something to think about before you do anything rash?" Again, I do not answer, just give a look of chagrin. "If I'm correct, then allow me to give you a reason to live."

I nod my assent and follow as I hear him leave the viewing deck. I then come to a stop as another thing Marc said strikes me. He says, "Jordan?"

"You said she has a partner."

Marc immediately comprehends and replies, "Yes, she does, the young woman who greeted you when you first knocked on her door."

I lift my chin from near my chest, looking up sharply. My startled expression must be very clear to see. Marc gives a small chuckle and says, "Don't be too surprised, Jordan. It's as we told you, there are always commonalities, but she was never your Sheila."


	8. Chapter 8

Together. Marc and I board the elevator. I get on first without asking, not to be rude, but just so I don't have to judge his position in a confined space. I feel him brush past me anyhow to reach the controls. He enters a passcode.

 _So, we're going to the upper floors._

"Indeed, we are, Jordan. Your first legitimate visit, I believe."

"Did I speak out loud?"

"No, but it wasn't hard to guess your thoughts from the way you scrutinised my code entry."

With that, the doors part, and before me is a single corridor with several sealed doors. I recognise it almost instantly as the twenty-fifth floor, the first of the restricted levels that I gained access to, but I accomplished little beyond that until my run-in with the ascending elevator.

I hear Marc leave the elevator, and I follow with a measured pace. He continues as such until we reach the very last door at the end, one somewhat larger and more imposing than the others. Marc wordlessly enters another passcode. The doors fly open unexpectedly fast, and I am greeted by darkness.

Marc continues in without hesitation. I cannot make out anything. Even the light filtering in from the corridor barely penetrates the inky blackness, but it does so enough to reveal a solid, smooth floor like obsidian glass.

I step in and immediately the doors close behind me. I am engulfed in absolute darkness. The only reason I have a sense of direction is because I feel my feet touching the floor. I do not panic, but it is in no way comfortable. Marc is, as usual, being aggravatingly quiet. I call out his name, just to get my bearings. He replies, "Oh yes, Jordan. Don't worry yourself. All will be illuminated shortly."

"...Was that a joke?"

"More of an ironic statement of fact."

Suddenly, a luminous blue line forms maybe a few dozen feet in front of me and traces around me, off to my right, and all the way around to its starting point, forming a circle that delineates the perimeter of this room. It's then I realise I'm in a massive sensorium, one far larger than the multi-person units in the Primary Sensoria.

A few moments later, an image forms, a multi-coloured spectrum stretching almost across the breadth of the room and extending off into the distance to some infinite point. I recognise it almost at once. It is the representation of the region of the multiverse that the Institute can access, the one Philips showed me at the navigation console for the Core.

"You're familiar, I believe? Philips explained it to you."

"Yes, each of those coloured bands represents many more dimensional lines. The closer two lines are together, the more similar they are, and adjacent realities on the same line are almost indistinguishable."

"Correct, and the Institute is capable of moving along lines, the vertical axis, and between lines, the horizontal axis. It is all it has done from the beginning, or at least since I arrived. Who knows how much of the spectrum it has travelled, in either direction."

He pauses and remains silent once more. I do not let it linger too long. "I already knew all of this, Marc, so where's the big reveal?"

"You don't see it then. Allow me to draw your focus."

Somehow, Marc is manipulating the image without issuing any instructions, which makes me think this is more of a pre-prepared presentation. He must always have assumed he'd get me here. It zooms in closer to the centre of the Spectrum, isolating the base of the blue and green bands. At first, I see nothing new. Then, something catches my eye, a faint secondary band that could be mistaken for a distortion of the image. I ask, "Is that what you mean? That blur of colour that almost looks like a double rainbow?"

"That's exactly it, Jordan."

"Well, what is it?"

"...Well, for starters, you understand, Jordan, that the base of the spectrum doesn't actually represent the start of any dimensional lines. The lines have no beginning, no end. They are infinite permutations of universes, each with only minor differences between them. And there are infinite lines, but we are limited to those in which the laws governing reality align with our own."

"Yes, Marc, please, I know this."

"Yes, but Philips never told you that we attempted to access a line beyond the Spectrum, once."

"No, he did not."

"Hmm, he sometimes omits important details. Well, suffice it to say that that attempt was unsuccessful. We tried to travel to a line just beyond the limits of the Spectrum where, surely, the universal constants couldn't be that different from our own. The Core itself barred the attempt, so clearly our Phase-Shift Generator cannot protect us from a truly exotic universe."

"I don't understand, Marc. What has that to do with what you just showed me?"

"Everything. Let's have a closer look."

He zooms in closer on the green and blue bands until individual lines could be discerned. I recognise the dots sitting upon the lines as individual realities, each one a near copy of either adjacent to it. However, as we move up along a green line, I begin to see realities with many other lines diverging from them and running parallel to the parent line. The image moves randomly to realms scattered amongst the blue and green bands. Eventually displayed are realities playing host to dozens of parallel dimensional lines, then more, and more, until it becomes impossible to discern at this magnification. It just looks like each reality is a seed from which countless roots have emerged.

"What is this?" I ask.

"It is what we like to call the Macroverse. They are dimensional lines that have literally sprouted from originals, what we like to call Hard Realities."

"I've heard that term before. Adimu used it while demonstrating dimensional navigation, but Philips cut her off before she could explain it."

"Thereby giving me the opportunity to explain to you now. The parent lines and the realities strung along them, they are hard realities. We all come from one of these, you, me, every fellow of the Institute. The Spectrum and everything beyond it form the infinite multiverse. We call them hard realities because within them, the universal constants are just that, constant. The laws of reality cannot be bent or broken and at least as far as the Spectrum extends, they are universal, which would continue to hold true beyond it, just with different laws."

I pause to absorb his explanation. It's Marc's turn to endure silence. Then, however, it becomes clear to me. "This is why I could never venture into another realm for long, isn't it?"

"Indeed, the multiverse is in balance. Any imbalance, an incursion by foreign matter for example, needs to be corrected. Hence, why you very nearly disintegrated into pure energy. Adimu's device merely gave you a reprieve, but the multiverse always sets itself right, eventually."

I consider his statement in light of everything I have experienced. I've this niggling feeling that there's more. I ask, "But that's not all, is it? There's more to it than just the laws of hard realities asserting themselves."

Marc lets out a brief chortle, seemingly of approval, before answering, "Indeed there is. Behold..."

The image of the spectrum zooms in closer upon the realities from which daughter lines had sprung. From the dots representing the hard realities, I can say with confidence that there must be thousands of them, but they differed from the parent lines in one key and quite astounding way, they had ends.

"They're not infinite." I stated.

"No, and many are occupied by but one reality."

"What are they?"

"Are we getting curious, Jordan?"

"Just tell me, please."

"Very well, let us begin by noting one key fact, these daughter lines only develop from realities where human beings exist, or have existed. In the countless realities where an Earth never bore humanity, or indeed, another sentient species, these lines do not come to be."

"Meaning what?"

"That they are a product of us."

"You can't...be serious. You mean to say that our mere existence has...altered the multiverse, created new realities within it?"

"Not just our existence, our imaginations."

"What?"

"Humanity, Jordan, has told many a tale, conjured up magic, dreamed of powers and technologies that are beyond our current reach, or even just pure fantasy. The Macroverse is like a sublevel of the green and blue bands of the spectrum, the bands where all human realms can be found. Every realm has its stories and every coherent telling envisioned in the minds of countless people plants a seed, a seed in the fabric of their realm which grows outward, seeking its kin originating from other realms. These alike daughter lines intertwine to form one and new realms form along them."

"You're saying...authors, screenwriters, playwrights, they are, by the simple act of telling a story, creating whole worlds, for real?"

"Imagination begets creation, literally! And it's not a simple act to tell a story, mind you. No tall tale told by an inebriated man in a pub will do. It must be a whole concept from people, to settings, to events and history, though even the most comprehensive story has blanks that the multiverse tends to fill in by borrowing from the originating hard reality."

"So, if I ever wrote a book or a play, a daughter line carrying my imaginings as a new realm would spring from my own reality?"

"And if another Jordan wrote something similar, its daughter line would join yours and two realms would exist along it, each representing your slightly different versions of the same world, a world you imagined."

I begin to do circles of the Spectrum image. This is a lot to take in, and my analytical mind is finding it hard to come to grips with what Marc has revealed to me. What's more, he's right to say I've become curious, even fascinated by all of this. Again, probably what he intended all along.

I stop, hands on my hips, staring at the ground, until I have another moment of realisation. I look into the space by the image where I think Marc stands and say, "Adimu's device, it came from one of these realms, didn't it?"

"Yes, and that's exactly why it would never have worked."

"Why?"

"Because the same rules don't apply there, in those 'imagined' realities. The universal constants may be essentially the same, but there they can be circumvented, or even changed to make what's impossible to you and me possible. That's why we call them Soft Realities, because the laws there are not immutable and can even be malleable."

"I don't understand."

"Well, say you wanted to fly under your own power, or summon lightning, or read people's minds, none of that is possible where we came from, but there are Soft Realities where it is, why? Because someone imagined it so."

"And the phase-shift device, someone imagined that, too."

"And while perfectly effective in the Soft Reality it came from, its function fades rapidly in a Hard Reality until, like any other foreign object, it ceases to be. Its very nature was the only reason it lasted hours and not minutes."

I keep trying to wrap my head around all of this as he speaks. How am I to accept that any novel, any theatre show, or even those garish movies and games from the United Americas, have become real worlds in their own right, occupied by real people, living their lives. It's incredibly tantalizing to imagine exploring those worlds through the sensoria. There are plenty of stories from my childhood that I'd relish the opportunity to investigate.

Yet, wouldn't that be nothing more than watching those movies and plays? It would do little more for me than all those endless hours trawling through hard realities, looking for a family I couldn't accept that I'd lost. I know Marc wants to give me a purpose here, but I would still be stuck here, in this Institute, forever. All the while, I would have to bear my grief, knowing versions of me, Sheila, and Emily were living on, safe and contented.

Maybe he senses my melancholy reasserting itself, but Marc immediately interrupts my internal lament with a curveball. "You know when I say the rules don't all apply, I mean also that you can go to these places."

For a moment, his words don't penetrate. My head is still awash with an overload of information, grief, and now, a rising confusion, and intrigue. I shake my head, then pace in circles a little while until, hands raised and open, I ask, "What do you want from me, Marc?"

"For you to be a part of the Institute, of course."

"No, specifically. For once, I'm genuinely asking, so lay it out for me." He doesn't immediately respond, but I can't stand even this short delay. "I was there, Marc, on the twenty-eight floor. I overheard your conversation with Scott and Samantha. I know you have security concerns. What are they? How am I needed?"

"To answer that properly, we shall need to go on a little journey."

We left the Grand Sensorium, as Marc had named it, but instead of ascending to the upper levels, as I expected, we went down. It doesn't take me long to realise where we're going and at the brink of the skyway, Scott and Samantha are waiting. If Scott stares at me any harder, he'll burn a hole in me with his glare. Obviously, he had hoped for a different outcome, one where I met an unhappy end.

Samantha's neutrality remains, her face expressionless. I can't help but look into her eyes, however, and while they do look lavender, there is no glow emanating from them as I imagined before.

"What is this?" I ask.

Marc replies, "You asked a question. I'm giving you an answer. Scott, if you wouldn't mind prepping our craft for departure."

He barely nods before turning on his heel and marching off. Samantha looks in my direction briefly before wordlessly following him across the skyway. When they are both out of earshot, Marc says, "A rather chilly reception, wouldn't you say?"

"Well, I don't suppose I should expect much else, especially from Scott."

"Yes, yes, well, your induction into the Institute has been far more lengthy and turbulent than any previous fellow. Though, I rather expected as much, right from the beginning. However, even I was surprised by your kamikaze maneuverer into the side of the building."

"You've been taking this all very well, you know."

"Have I? Well, I've always considered myself rather equable, even in the most trying of circumstances. As for the others, well, that might require a bit of time."

"You expect me to work with them. That I can manage, but can they?"

"One step at a time. Let's try to regain their tolerance first...of your presence."

I sigh and say, "Well, that was inspiring."

He chortles at length before saying, "Well, why don't we go see what we have in store for you? I'm sure merely settling in to your position here will keep you occupied and in that time, the others may well come around."

"So, you're basically offering me a job?"

"Well, Jordan, everyone here has a job to do. It'll just be far more dynamic and invariably challenging than that innocuous word would suggest."

We board a craft identical to the one I hijacked in my escape attempt. Scott is already enmeshed in the pilot seat, and Samantha has buckled herself in on the seating in the aft section. I proceed to do the same without looking at either of them. I am, however, perturbed to watch straps seemingly float about and latch themselves, as Marc takes the seat beside me. "The straps are mostly only to deal with relatively mild turbulence," Marc says. "If we encounter anything too rough, let's say a collision for example, a mesh similar to Scott's will envelop us instantly. That said, I anticipate an uneventful flight."

I know full well that collision comment was for my benefit.

The craft begins its take off. I ask, "So, are you taking me to one of these Soft Realities?"

"Just call them SRs for short, and no, we'll be remaining in this realm."

"Well, I know we can't be going far then, surely."

"Just over the border to Calgary, or that general locale."

"But how? That's almost a thousand kilometers out."

Samantha shocks me by answering. "By focusing the Core's output upon a single craft's receptor rather than in every direction, it greatly increases our range." Her delivery was cool. Still, she spoke to me of her own volition. That's something.

"Quite right," Marc adds, "and once there...well, I won't spoil the surprise."

I don't bother to coax an answer out of him. We lift out of the Hangar Bay and as the Institute comes into view, I immediately notice that the damage I inflicted has already been repaired. It's as if nothing ever happened. Scott reorients the craft towards the east and out ahead is nothing but mountains and impenetrable forests. Suddenly, we shoot upwards, above the cloud deck, to a cruising altitude. As before, I feel no acceleration.

Marc says, "We're travelling at almost Mach 5, so we should be there in about ten minutes. These craft can go a lot faster, even making interplanetary journeys in a relatively short time span, but doing that within an atmosphere would have some deleterious side effects."

I know as much. The UFE and USSR had been in a race to build better and faster supersonic aircraft for espionage and quick strike operations. Thinking of it now, though, just draws me back to the fateful visit to the sensorium that revealed the fate of my world. I shake the thoughts and focus on the now.

Before I know it, we have decelerated and seem to be making a final approach. Curiosity draws me forward before anyone can utter a word. As I enter the cockpit, I am astounded. Stretching out on the prairie below is a vast campus. No towering buildings like the Institute, but a vast complex consisting of five distinct districts organised around a central hub. This hub is a vast pyramidal structure that dwarfs the Institute in area if not height. It is surrounded by parkland and is connected to the other five districts by an equal number of boulevards and other transport links I can't immediately identify. A vast circuit runs between each district, demarcating the campus's border with its surroundings.

As we approach closer, I see a landing pad at each face of the pyramid. Scott is landing us near what I presume to the building's main entrance.

"Welcome to Templin East." I jump as Marc speaks unexpectedly close.

I don't say much as we land and disembark, only follow the others as we make our way up to the Pyramid. We ascend a set of steps towards a series of glass doors. I look around, awed all the while. There are dozens, perhaps over a hundred personnel, just within view. The scale of the place is far more impressive from the ground. It stretches miles in every direction, and I observe a maglev system operating along with all manner of vehicles travelling the boulevards. I even think there's a subway system, judging from what looks like steps leading down to a platform. I would have walked into one of the doors in distraction if they weren't automatic.

We enter into a vast concourse. The whole pyramid seems to be constructed of glass on a steel frame and from here, I can see about three quarters of the levels before the ceiling cuts off the view. People seem to be moving on every floor. Multiple lifts are in operation, some disappearing beyond view above ceiling level, and still others are using odd looking vehicles to traverse the vast space of the first floor. One person even blithely floats by me, engrossed with her device, upon some kind of hovering platform.

There does not seem to be any designated reception area. Instead, the whole space is taken up by benches and large work tables, mostly located in front of huge digital information boards or centred around holographic display units. People seem to be checking for updates, working problems, or undergoing training. Several unusual trees also occupy the space along with many other floral curiosities. One tree looks like a willow but is oddly mobile given the lack of even a draft, and another has a human face in its upper trunk, and I swear its 'eyes' move to follow me.

The second floor is accessible by a set of conventional stairs and a pair of escalators. I follow Scott and Samantha up the steps, presuming Marc is somewhere nearby. When we reach the second floor, I see its rooms are separated from us by the glass wall that essentially divides the pyramid in two. A walkway in front stretches from one corner to the other, and automatic glass doors permit access. Scott marches off and Samantha motions me to follow them to the lifts. I presume that we are boarding one but instead, we wait. I say, not looking in any particular direction, "What are we doing, Marc?"

"Nothing, but shortly, we shall have company."

Not a moment later, and the lift doors part, revealing a slight but severe-looking man accompanied by a young, much taller woman of South Asian extraction. The man, on further examination as he steps closer, is to say the least, disquieting. Despite being not much above five feet, his body looks taut, not frail, which was my first impression. His exposed skin bears scars, including on his face, which is hairless. No sign of eyebrows or lashes, and he's bald. None of these things would be too remarkable. In fact, his features are quite plain, except for his eyes. The pupils are cat-like, and his irises are an autumnal orange.

All I can think is that he has the look of a predator.

His unsettling gaze falls upon each of us, Samantha and Scott who stand to my right and then he focuses on a spot to my left. "Marc," he says, "to what do I owe the pleasure?" There's a quality to his voice that just gives me goosebumps, like it's cutting right through my reason and resolve to some primal fear, telling me to flee.

"Director, allow me to introduce my candidate for head of security at Templin West, Jordan Yates. Jordan, this is Director Sova. He is my counterpart and head of all operations here at Templin East."

Unsure, I reply, "Ah, pleased to...make your acquaintance."

Gratefully, his eyes don't linger on me for long. He returns his attention to Marc and only then does it occur to me that this Director can actually see him. He says, "Security at your facility is indeed a hole in desperate need of plugging. It was an issue I thought should have been resolved months ago."

"Certain specimens have proved a challenge..."

"Including your candidate for head of security, I believe."

Again, he is looking at me, as Marc replies, "It was a long and fraught adjustment for Jordan, I'll admit."

"Templin West is our forward base of operations, Marc, and we depend on you to assess what our field agents bring back before it is transferred here for further research."

"I'm aware of that. I did request more resources to temporarily fill the gap."

"Hmm, Marc, you know well we have our own security challenges, and our facility is quite a bit bigger than yours."

I felt there was a subtle but rather puerile dig there. Marc seems unfazed. "I understand Sovo, but now that we can begin Jordan's integration in full, at least the security department at my facility will have some direction."

"Yes, well, it'll need staff, too, unless you plan to have your candidate run a one-man operation." He considers for a moment before saying, "I just don't like it when the specimens you send surprise me with something not in your assessment reports."

"As I have said, limited resources, which means limited time we can spend assessing each subject."

"I suppose then we'll have to refocus our efforts on containment measures here for the time being. I'd rather not curtail our workload."

I work up the courage to speak. "Excuse me, Director..." His head swivels towards me on his wiry neck with unsettling swiftness, and I wither a little under his predatory gaze. I keep my nerve enough to utter, "Allow me to make myself clear. You can squabble between yourselves, but I am not going to head anything unless I have support and, more importantly, know what I'm up against."

His pupils contract noticeably, but he doesn't so much as twitch otherwise. He just stands there, scrutinizing me with those menacing eyes. I do my best not to flinch, and I just about survive when Marc interjects. "Of course, Jordan, we can organise a security staff for you. Scott may have the most direct experience in Templin West, which was why he was covering the position, but we do have quite a bit of potential among our fellows. You will have your work cut out for you, training them, of course."

"You still haven't told me what I'm training them for. I don't even know what to expect."

"You've had a taste of it from being on the top floors. Certain specimens require contingency measures and constant monitoring to ensure there aren't any...unfortunate outcomes."

Director Sovo grunts and says, "That's a polite way of putting loss of life and potential calamity for this entire operation. Mr. Yates, Templin West and East are in a precarious position. Our staff are drawn randomly from Hard Realities and while most adjust faster than yourself, the fact is that if we lose people, there is no one coming to replace them, not quickly anyhow. This isn't even considering the potential for damage to our facilities, damage we cannot address because we do not understand the technology that allows us to be here, not to mention a lack of resources to effect repairs on more basic systems. That is why assessment, containment, and fast response are essential to our survival. That's why we need you."

Marc adds, "After almost two decades, our numbers have finally reached a critical mass. We have enough personnel and have become sufficiently organised to carry out the task set before us. Very soon, we intend to begin forays and sample retrievals in more realms, on the order of tenfold more than we currently do."

Sovo added, "Templin West will also be tasked with setting up outposts and field research stations in these SR realms. Finally, we can begin studying the macroverse in greater detail."

I ask, "And you expect me to direct security for this entire operation that you're planning?"

Sovo replies, "Yes. You occupied a position of high rank and responsibility before."

"This is somewhat different."

"Only in the details, Mr. Yates."

"Well, I hear you'll find the Devil there, Director."

He does not appear to understand, or perhaps lacks a sense of humour, or maybe it was a bad joke. Any of these is possible. Just then, a frazzled young man with messy, ginger hair comes running up, panting and visibly shaken. He gathers himself and says, "Director, we've been trying to get in touch. We have a breach. CV-0023. The creatures we captured from 4091.4."

Sovo narrows his pupils again without any visible movement of his face or body. He mutters, "Bestiary, again."

"I'm sorry, sir. We reinforced their enclosure after the last incident, but they've responded by doubling down on their military industrial complex. They unexpectedly deployed a laser that blasted a hole in the ballistic glass protecting the observation gallery. Several dozen have escaped, many using fighter craft."

"Has the breach been sealed, at least?"

"It has, sir, and their laser has been disabled. However, many individuals are still at large in D-49. There have been multiple injuries. Dr. Singh is among them."

Sovo turns to the woman who accompanied him. "Shirin, please get in touch with Mr. Alexeev. Tell him his Division 4 teams must report to Bestiary at once and initiate full containment and recapture protocols."

She nods, looks at the redheaded man, and says, "With me."

He does not question her, but he looks distinctly unhappy to have to go back. I caught something there. Her irises are lavender, like Samantha's, and the two seemed to catch each other's eye, as she left. Breaking into my thoughts, Sovo says, as he re-enters the elevator, "You best prepare yourself, Mr. Yates. Things may not get quite as exciting in Templin West but at least here, we're dealing with the somewhat known."

He nods in what I presume is Marc's direction and is gone without another word. Whatever just happened, I feel no more enlightened about what Marc wants from me. In fact, I have more questions. I say as much, and Marc responds, "Well, Jordan, I always told you that you need only ask, and I, Scott, and Samantha will be bringing you up to speed."

Scott interjects, "Like hell, Marc. If he's to be Security head, then I want no further part in that department. I request to be transferred back to Biologics."

"Request denied. You're the only other fellow in Templin West with a military background."

"This isn't what we agreed, Marc. You said you wouldn't need to lean on me for security once he came around."

"I believe I said I wouldn't need to lean on you _as much_."

Scott scowls at me and in Marc's general direction before responding, "Then I'll be requesting transfer here. I'm sure Bestiary could use a hand. Excuse me, _Director_."

With that, he takes the elevator, presumably to follow Director Sovo. There's an awkward moment of silence, though Samantha seems as indifferent as ever. Marc is first to break the ice, as always. "He'll come around, especially when Sovo turns him down, and he's had a few weeks to brood. How about you, Samantha? Any objections?"

"Many, but I can remain professional, for now."

"I suppose I can't ask much else."

I exclaim, "Marc! We need to take a step back. I've just learned there are two institutes, not one, and this operation involves thousands of people, working in hundreds of alternate realities, many of which are creations of human imagination."

"Yes, I believe we've been through that much with you."

Samantha adds, "You seem slightly overwhelmed, Jordan. Do you need to sit down?"

"No! ...Yes, actually."

I plant myself on the highest step and look out upon the concourse. Dozens of scientists, technicians, and engineers dart this way and that. Displays and holograms activate and shut down as meetings convene and disperse. I catch that sprightly willow, swaying its branches out of the corner of my eye. I'm taken aback to see that tree with a face 'looking' in my direction, though I'm full sure that feature was on the opposite side of the trunk from me when I passed.

I think of Sheila of Emily then, though I hadn't meant to. It occurs to me that for the first time since I lost them, I've thought about my life going forward. I believed I knew my course, that I would find them somewhere, somehow, and everything would be alright again. Yet now, I feel like, though the desire was born of desperation and grief, it was a selfish one, and an insult to the memory of _my_ wife and _my_ daughter. It wouldn't have mattered if my hopeless pursuit had actually worked. No one would ever replace them.

With that realisation comes also the knowledge that neither of them would want me to take my one other choice, end it all in hopes of being reunited with them, or just disappearing into oblivion, and perhaps, maybe, a little part of me doesn't want that either. Perhaps, I even want to pursue the opportunity set in front of me. I come to my feet, face them both, and say, "I accept your offer."

Marc replies, "Splendid, then we should really be getting back. We have a lot of work ahead of us."

I realise he and Samantha mean to leave literally this instant, and I ask, "Well, what about Scott?"

"He'll find his own way back, I'm sure. He'll probably do a few laps of the grand circuit before he accepts the inevitability of having to work with you. He is such a stubborn and temperamental man, at times."

"At times?" I mutter.

"You'll learn to value his unyielding determination, however. Now seen as you could use the flight experience, perhaps you'd be so good as to pilot our craft..."

Just then, there's a bright flash, the sound of shattering glass, as several panels above the main entrance collapse to the polished concrete floors. There are more bright, blue flashes of light, and then fire and smoke erupt from a damaged holo-projector. Next, a display screen is hit, and a shower of sparks and shrapnel is cast out onto the helpless fellows below.

We all duck for cover and when I see it whizz overhead with a high-pitched drone, I cannot believe my eyes. Some kind of small lizard-like creature, wearing goggles and a helmet, is piloting what looks like a miniature, old-fashioned biplane but instead of tiny machine guns, it's armed with blue lasers.

It makes another low pass over us and takes out a display opposite the willow. The tree does not seem best pleased and shakes its branches vigorously in protest. The tree with a face seems equally perturbed with its visage changing to a frown.

People are panicking, screaming, desperately trying to take cover from this little reptilian fighter-pilot. A few try to make a dash for the front entrance and foolishly expose themselves in the open. The critter opens fire on the fleeing fellows and shatters more of the Pyramid's window panels. Those who tried to flee lie on the ground, moaning, but their injuries appear superficial.

Just then, the pilot comes around. "Damn, Bestiary, they should have initiated lockdown the moment they had an enclosure breach." Sovo says.

I did not notice him return with a very sullen looking Scott in tow. He's crouched low, uncomfortably close to me.

Just then a compartment emerges seamlessly from one of the steps and inside are several weapons. One of them is the laser I'm already familiar with, which Marc then throws in my direction. I catch it, and note that it is dialed up to full and wide dispersal. He says, "Sovo, I hope you don't value this specimen overly much." He grunts in response. Marc then says, "So, Jordan, I think it's time we begin."

I nod, and stand as the pilot comes right at me.

I take aim and fire.


End file.
